


Foresight

by impassiveimp



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: F/F, M/M, Slow Burn, superhero au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-04-08 05:26:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 62,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4292412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impassiveimp/pseuds/impassiveimp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Randy Orton is a full time super villain who just wants to kick back, enjoy his well earned life of crime, and ignore all plans to "destroy the world as we know it and start anew". Stardust is a human-alien hybrid with a penchant for getting into trouble and has the frustrating ability to stop all his best laid plans at every turn.</p><p>Still, the Viper is definitely going to have fun with this one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a random idea that popped into my head about a week ago while watching Smackdown. I'm still really, really new to the WWE Universe so forgive me if things seem out of character or off in some way. I'm trying my hardest to get facts, personalities, and rivalries correct.
> 
> It'll be a multi-chaptered fic since I'm sort of just winging it we're jumping right into things and we'll see how often it updates. I hope you enjoy and appreciate Randy and Stardust/Cody as much as I do!
> 
> See end notes for more.

WWE. The most powerful group of superheroes the world had to offer; a hand-picked assortment of both the strange and the strong to ensure that justice prevailed no matter the cost.

There had been countless heroes, both men and women alike, that gave WWE its fame and reputation. Humanity recognized globally that when in trouble, the WWE could be counted on to help save the day. But as the WWE grew strained through countless decades of battling the odds and losing many brave protectors, The Authority fortified its structure and spread its influence. 

*

July third, 2015: the day that, as Paige liked to remind Randy, a small group of misfit (but fairly competent) super villains lost a fight and several thousand dollars to some half-alien freak in a onesie. 

Randy Orton, AKA the Apex Predator, AKA the Viper, AKA King of the RKO, and AKA the man you run away from if you see him coming towards you, was high up in the foodchain for The Authority. He took as much pride in knowing he could make both good and bad weak kneed at the sight of him as he did in blatantly and vocally hating his position. If asked why he would simply go on a rant about earlier days and a time when he wasn't bogged down by the responsibilities of being someone to report to; when he could still beat the bravado out of random citizens without the risk of limelight. It was due to this pressure that sometimes Randy found himself doing petty crimes with those deemed lower on the scale of importance. Most others who were near his level of skill wouldn't be caught dead wasting their time with small time feats.

For him, robbing a bank was like a breath of fresh air. 

Seeing the terrified expressions of the tellers and assortment of hostages stuck on the floor while, " _The Lunatic_ ", Dean Ambrose shoveled money into the most threadbare of bags, well, there wasn't much that could replace that; not another doomsday device plan certainly, and most definitely not having to fight toe-to-toe with the head honchos of the WWE every other day of the week. There was just something so simplistically beautiful and freeing about tying up a bag of stolen cash and running away from incoming cop cars. He wasn't worried about being caught and put into jail (he hadn't had a problem with that since the first and only court case he had been forced to take part in. Hunter's lawyer had annihilated that court—Randy swore to this day that the judge had cried halfway through the hearing.) but it was the _principle_ of it.

Beside him, " _The Britani Knight_ ", or as she liked to be called, _Paige_ , let out a delighted cackle, half skipping and half jogging beside Bo Dallas (just Bo Dallas) who struggled to keep up with their longer legs. Her strange fixation on the young man was something that puzzled even the smartest of their kind, but Randy passed it off as a minion-type situation. He'd seen this sort of thing before. Paige was flourishing into quite the lovely super villainess and had been not-so-subtly hinting at receiving her own second in command for her three-year anniversary. Bo was probably the best candidate for the young woman: he was fresh enough not to have the supremely jaded attitude of a veteran and mentally unhinged enough to be enthusiastic about doing stupid things without question—such as running headfirst into a gun fight without any weapon whatsoever or being told to fight a giant robot that could shoot lasers from its eyes.

Ambrose kept up ahead of them as per usual, too headstrong to run with them but too cautious to completely throw self preservation to the wind. It worked out best to have him leading anyways. His nose was something that rivaled Randy's senses (or, at least, his tongue) with how it could detect enemies on the horizon and give them ample opportunity to switch escape tactics and avoid the police. Dean always complained they smelled like burnt rubber and cheap coffee. Randy was inclined to agree as he didn't want to make a fool out of himself sticking his tongue into the air to taste the difference.

“Boss--” Bo panted, lagging only slightly behind him with Paige making encouraging noises and repeatedly slapping at his back to run faster, “They definitely noticed.”

Annoying but not surprising. 

“They're on their way already. ETA...bout' one minute till' we throw down. Can we try to avoid playgrounds this time? Kids deserve breaks too, y'know.” Dean threw over his shoulder.

Paige made a face at that, “That slide had it coming—who even paints them _puke green_?”

“Plastic slides aren't painted ya' moron.”

“Is there a good stopping point ahead?” Randy interjected before the two could start arguing again. Christ but Paige's crush on Dean had developed into something headache inducing.

Bo made some vague gesture towards a traffic jammed four-way crossroad to the left, too tired and too concentrated on moving his legs to vocalize his point. Randy liked it. It was public enough to ensure the heroes would have to be careful of property or bystander damage and gave them more creative liberties with what they could use in a brawl. Paige _did_ love to throw expensive things around. Quickly the Viper changed directions, not checking to make sure the other three were following. The bag carried in his hand was brought to his mouth before whatever Scooby gang was chosen showed up. Nothing like a back-up plan in case things went awry, and he was always under the opinion that his venom wasn't used enough in combat.

Sirens blared in the distance and announced police valiantly making an effort to track them down. It was pointless really, but Randy had to appreciate their commitment. It was dumb to underestimate how far the the local division would go—Big Show had learned that lesson when one of the lead detectives managed to shoot him in the leg a few weeks ago--and he always appreciated a good audience when the moment called for it.

This city was chaos, a buffet for the wicked and a battleground for the morally good. Crime dripped from every corner, and burned brightly like the California sun that sizzled above palm trees and cracked cement. It ached for a good show between good and evil and Randy loved it. It was so much better than his previous life in the drab state of Tennessee that he left for the lights, camera, and violence. There wasn't anything in the world he'd trade for what he'd earned.

“Great.” Ambrose grumbled, “We got the hustler himself dropping in.”

Dean never stopped moving, pacing angrily beside Randy and rolling his shoulders to help with the subtle shifts bubbling underneath his skin. He only paused to pick at his hand-wraps obsessively as Paige bent nearly in two to limber up. 

“Not to be the bearer of bad news—because I'd _much rather_ settle for an _invigorating_ speech—but it's a tad too hot for me to keep up. My throat is going to get dry the longer this takes and I didn't bring any water.” Bo helpfully supplied, a strained smile back on his face now that his breath had caught up, “I can provide at least three hits but that's it. Wouldn't want to strain the vocals!”

Ambrose snorted at that, clearly showing how he felt about Bo's precious _vocals_ , but didn't comment once Paige gave him a warning side eye. Randy suppressed the urge to concentrate on how childish the three were. As much as they drove him up the wall they provided the best backup without the added pain of having to background check after every heist whether or not he was going to be stabbed in the back.

“Freeze!” And if that wasn't the icing on the cake, Randy didn't know what was.

Dean had been correct—John Felix Anthony Cena himself came jogging up with the usual intense look of concentration on his rather square looking head. Roman Reigns was right on his tail, attempting to subtly glance back towards Daniel Bryan bringing up the rear with some unknown tag-along. 

The chosen group was, in all honesty, ridiculous.

No, that wasn't entirely true and perhaps if Randy wasn't, well, the Apex Predator he'd be more intimidated. After all, Cena wasn't a joke even if his choice in uniform was, Reigns had that intense thousand yard stare of his going with the wind blowing his hair _just so_ , and Bryan had most definitely drop kicked him through a metal park bench during their last scuffle—height difference be damned. So, no, he was quite aware that the assortment of men before him were not to be taken lightly even if he knew their teamwork was shoddy at the best of times.

The man currently pacing beside Bryan—who was valiantly attempting to calm him at least for a single moment as Cena pointedly tried to pretend it wasn't happening—was a different story.

He was a fresh face, definitely a newbie just picked up, which made him more dangerous if only because they hadn't any clue what he could do. But...the face paint. And the _stars_. It was all so jarringly and obnoxiously out of place next to the other three that Randy couldn't help but stare. Beside him he knew Ambrose was doing the same, for once stunned into an amused silence.

“Is this guy for real?” Paige stage whispered to him, eyes darting briefly from the group before them to his face.

“He seems to be having some trouble!” Bo helpfully provided in a sickly sweet and slightly confused tone.

“He _seems like_ he's havin' a meltdown.” Ambrose finally snickered, still jittery even while watching and shifting from foot to foot like an animal.

Across the street Cena's jaw visibly clenched harder as the star patterned stranger squawked something about “morlocks” and “cosmic frequencies”. Somehow knowing that his age-old rival was struggling to control his temper made dealing with this absurd situation slightly easier. The knowledge wasn't relaxing his fists but he always relished in the opportunity to see John's face tighten beneath his garishly bright cap.

The freak was finally slowing his roll and allowing Bryan to hesitantly place a placating hand on his shoulder. What exactly the shrimp was saying to him didn't matter as long as the guy shut up in time for the usual pre-melee theatrics. There was a crowd of civilians gathering on the outskirts of the packed and evacuated street and he didn't want to find a video of himself on youtube later being in the vicinity of this sideshow.

Sirens getting louder snapped his mind back into focus—handle this new information later, fight now. He straightened his back, widened his stance, and raised his chin imperiously to sneer at John. Cena, likewise, instantly reacted by drawing himself up to his full height and posturing right back. He could hear Paige mutter, “ _finally_ ”, and had to resist throttling her. Again. Trying to silence his group was like trying do anything of extreme and outrageous effort: best to be avoided unless absolutely necessary.

“Viper.”

He really hated that calling card but he acknowledged the challenge with raised eyebrows.

“Hand the valuables over and we can end this quietly before anyone gets hurt.”

Randy made a show of rolling his eyes, juggling the weighted bag between his hands with a barely contained sneer on his face. He was all for throwing a few punches over lesser things, but Bo's status had him more on guard than usual. It would be a shame if they were dominated by such an odd little four-man tag team instead of successful in escaping with the cash. No, they'd need to be more subtle about this (even if subtle wasn't something every person in his group was gifted at). 

Orton allowed himself to relish the twinge of satisfaction at witnessing John's eyes widen incredulously when he suddenly and gingerly sat the bag of stolen goods down and stepped back. Ambrose made a displeased grunt but surprisingly didn't blow the sudden change in plans. Perhaps the Lunatic was finally starting to grow a brain.

His group was forced to follow his slow retreat back and left the bag in the middle of the cracked, heated pavement like some sort of peace offering. Confusion was palpable from every person involved but still Randy didn't break the guise and gestured to the loot mockingly.

Bryan had released the newbie and warily joined Cena in the forefront, Roman just off enough to the side to appear as though he was oh-so-reluctant to be associated with his squad. An unsaid debate went on for a few seconds—take the bag and regain the money or leave it and potentially lose everything they came to recover as well as admiration in the public's eye? Randy always did love the simplest of mind games, it made everything more fun, made his mouth _salivate_ in anticipation. The beauty was that he didn't need to do anything more. He had made his move. Now they had to make theirs.

It was, of course, Cena who stepped up to the challenge. Either to reinforce the idea of his leaderly strength or to try and call Randy's bluff--he didn't care. 

The bags had been dribbled on earlier during their escape from the bank, a paralytic poison that he could produce from his teeth and nails. It was a lovely addition to the set of abilities he possessed but meant only he could carry what they took out. Now, luckily, it was about to become their trump card. Once Cena was on the floor the others would be easy enough to overpower and outrun.

Paige seemed to sense that something was about to happen while John approached the bags. She had a clever head on her shoulders and a good set of instincts. He could spot her subtly nudging Bo's arm in his peripheral vision and in that moment the anticipation for what was about to occur was delectable. His teeth were elongating slowly in his mouth, just enough to put satisfying pressure on his gums, and he could feel scales trail silently up the length of his spine towards his shoulders. The change always felt nice to him, felt like something massaged his very core and made him want to arch into the feeling. It made Ambrose jealous—his own change made him antsy and more volatile.

Cena reached for the bags, stubby fingers spreading, and Randy resisted the urge to lick his lips. The other man would be played like the tool he was and better yet, it'd be him who did it. A smile flickered at the edges of his mouth while he shifted one foot just enough behind him to prepare for his sprint towards the nearest enemy. Bo began gathering air in his lungs, a soft sound that shifted the air.

Like with all good things the strategy fell apart within seconds.

Later Bo would swear up and down the star-kid's eyes changed to an unearthly orange and yellow. Paige would quip that he looked like he was concentrating so hard he was about to shit his pants. Ambrose wouldn't say anything at all because his scuffles always ended with him brooding over the thought of Reigns and their weird little “relationship”. Randy wouldn't know what to think besides that everything was going as planned up until the newbie suddenly shrieked in panic and it all blew up into pandemonium.

“Trap— _it's a trap!_ ”

Cena's fingers had barely brushed the tip of the bag (not quite enough to stun, damn him) before the words startled him to a halt. Almost instantly after Bo let off an ear-splitting sonic boom, the yell sending Bryan and Reigns scattering like bowling pins.

Oh there was going to be property damage and he knew for a fact that Paige tossed the Porsche at Cena on purpose. His scales patterned themselves fully onto his arms, his chest, and up the back of his neck, and he sprang forwards with intent, leaving Bryan little time to recover. The man needed to pay a price for scorching him during their previous altercation and a few solid blows to the head would do just the trick. Hand to hand was Orton's speciality. His snake-like power had proved time and time again to be nearly impossible to deal with in close combat and what Bryan made up for in long range attacks he lost when Randy picked him up with one clawed hand and flipped him forcibly into the ground. 

The air loudly expelled from Bryan's lungs, punched from his throat as Randy quickly and firmly planted a jab right to his chest and then temple, teeth tingling at the sight. Bryan groaned in pain, eyes dazedly trying to lock onto the taller man hovering above him while he raised a hand defensively. The palm of it sizzled in warning but it didn't deter the bigger man—he only needed to aim for the forearm and Daniel wouldn't have any time to counter the bite. Randy truly wished he could savor the moment longer.

“Hold still.” He rumbled, mouth opening wider and wider as he felt his jaw unhinge and make room to accommodate for the oncoming attack, the ruthless sounds of the fight fading into the background once his mind locked onto his prey.

His mouth never made it to Bryan's arm.

All he comprehended before having a solid body tackle him to the side, was a hissing noise not unlike an enraged cat. He caught Daniel's eyes nearly popped out of his skull at the sight of the unnamed young man attempting to bodily pin him to the road—and who was this _boy_ even kidding, did he really think he could outmatch him in strength? Someone didn't warn him enough about the risks of fighting with the big dogs.

“Hands _off!_ ” Newbie yelped, clawing at Randy's face with gloved fingers that irritated and cut at his skin.

In his opinion, that was quite enough.

The poor boy wouldn't even have a chance to comprehend what he was about to go through, though perhaps he realized it the moment Randy felt a true smile slip onto his face, toothy and _hungry_. Swift as a whip he flipped their positions, grappling with weaker but erratic arms to try and pin the younger man down. The newbie, for his part, was squawking in protest and attempting to both punch him in every available surface and kick his legs free. This felt unfair in terms of skill but Randy wasn't about to show mercy to some loud mouthed freak.

"Duck!"

There was a brief shift in the air and Randy tucked his head down in time to witness Cena sailing directly over and into the side of a shop window, glass shattering and scattered everywhere. 

“This is my house, _dick!_ ” Paige screamed, barreling after the dazed man and ramming him back into the store as he tried to climb back out, metal quickly recoating his body. Randy felt a fondness developing in the back of his mind at the display of pure brutality. 

“Whoopsie.” The newbie's completely unapologetic voice had his attention once more—though apparently too late as he had somehow managed to wiggle a leg free without his notice and had turned onto his stomach to pull himself away. His hands and feet scrambled to find purchase on the hot asphalt, pushing hard to gain him some distance. Orton, for his part, felt a growl bubble up, a deep and warning rumble as his power set in further.

Going full strength with his particular set of skills always risked losing himself to the chase and the desire to dominate whomever had the misfortune of going up against him, but it wasn't a bad loss in his opinion. This bracket of power was always more difficult to control, there was no need to dwell on it—not when he had his gaze locked onto the dark and shiny material clinging to the pest before him. The boy half turned, eyes going again from a hazy green to sudden intense fiery red and orange. 

Randy couldn't pin point exactly what happened. One second he had launched himself full power at the boy and the next he was ramming into the lamppost behind him. The metal crunched and bent around the shape of his shoulder and let out only one sad, long groan as it gave out and smashed to the ground. 

How...?

“Missed me, missed me!” The boy crowed, practically hopping up and down in excitement, “ _Ooohhh_ , how embarrassing!”

Randy swore he could see red. In the next second he had turned and launched himself again, this time catching the still celebrating newbie off guard. The surprise and registering pain in his expression was satisfying even if he successfully managed to roll with the tackle and send Orton careening into a fire hydrant now. Water spewed violently from the busted top of the container and caused citizens to scatter. Figures a little liquid would scare them off but a fight to the death between super-powered freaks wouldn't. 

This was not going as planned at all.

Randy took a moment to collect himself and gazed in the scene unfolding around him. Bryan was letting loose a few miniature hiccups of fire at Bo, missing every time and managing to set no less than a mail box, a bar sign, and a car tire on fire. Cena had shifted into his nearly indestructible metal form and was attempting to catch every expensive piece of crap that Paige tossed at him on purpose. Reigns was gathering momentum and energy to charge whatever it was that he did, eyes glowing an icy blue. Ambrose, half changed and sporting a dangerous set of canines, charged the taller man somewhere in there and was viciously laying hit after hit on his person.

In the middle of it was a very befuddled and absently grinning man in melting star make-up who gazed at the destruction around him with near unhinged glee. The water continued to spray around like a shoddy waterfall and soaked the boy but he didn't seem to care—nor did he seem to care that his face was now on full display for whatever media outlet was bound to show up in the next few seconds. Instead he was holding out a hand as though he could feel the water through his gloves and bleeding all over himself from the punishing hits Randy had laid into him. Bo screamed again in the background, shaking the ground with the force of it, and Orton finally straightened. 

All this for a simple sack of money. It was pure discord and destruction under the guise of protecting the peace with some unnamed newcomer cackling in delight amidst the chaos.

And as he stared in disbelief at the stranger, Randy Orton thought things might finally be getting interesting again.

Now he just had to find out the kid's name.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I churned this one out since it was supposed to go with the first chapter. Updates will definitely not be this frequent.
> 
> Not happy with the pace of this at all but I'm doing this without a Beta so it'll have to do for now!

“How dumb do you have to be to get caught _twice_ by Roman?” Paige questioned, a bandage prepped and ready to be placed on Dean's cheek. The man in question wrinkled his nose, winced at the spike of pain that shot up the bridge, and decided against speaking back to the younger woman. “I mean we all know you have a thing for him or whatever, but when he catches you he's always going to go in for the kill—not the kiss.”

There was a television on somewhere nearby, probably in the break room. The sound of it trailed down the empty hallways of the Authority headquarters. No one really hung around after ten. Not unless they had reasons unrelated to whatever cover job they managed or were part of the inner circle. An infomercial enthusiastically declared the life changing effects of a lint roller that could be bought for such a cheap and low price they may a well be giving it away for free. Randy felt like he was developing a headache.

“I do not have a _thing!_ ” The man finally snarled, heat crawling up the side of his neck and coloring his ears a light shade of red. Paige smirked in return and slapped the bandaid onto his face with a resounding smack.

“You don't really have room to talk about injuries.” Randy reminded the woman, amusement only stretching so far at watching the trio's antics.

“What injuries?” Paige smugly grinned up at him, the movement crinkling her puffed up black eye, displaying cracked lips and teeth stained red. Bo made a concerned noise somewhere behind her and Randy would bet anything he was already pulling together a makeshift kit to attend to the pale girl.

“What about you, big man?” Ambrose snarked. He had leaned back against the cool walls of the locker room. Technically this was only meant to be a shower room for when employees worked up a sweat but it was common knowledge that patching up within the comforting metallic walls was preferable to being stuck in the sterile holding cell called an infirmary. “Newbie did a number on ya'.”

Whoever was in control of the television remote was now channel surfing at an annoyingly fast rate. The throbbing in his head intensified.

Dean certainly knew how to sour a situation. A frown had already slipped free in response; too late to pretend that he was unbothered by the comment. For a moment the only sound that echoed through the nearly empty room was water dripping from shower heads to the damp tiled floor. Randy liked making people wait for his words, enough time and it unsettled people and made them question their own statements. Unfortunately, Ambrose was a continued exception to the rule. The man hardly ever seemed to think twice about the garbled up junk that came out of his mouth. Bo uncomfortably cleared his throat, eyes flicking between their tensed forms. He was clearly unwilling to move to attend to Paige before the situation had settled, not wanting to draw attention to himself. Not yet, at least.

“He got lucky.” Randy finally drawled and allowed his body to unwind into a lazier stance, “Won't be happening again.”

The television settled on the evening news. Randy could make out the annoying tones of the one and only Miz, live and on sight of...something. Whatever he was saying wasn't striking Randy as entirely good but then Miz never did commentate on things people like him benefited from.

“Lucky, he says.” Dean snorted, “Sure didn't look like luck to me.”

“Maybe if you had payed attention to your own _big problem_ instead of watching Randy's _ass_ you wouldn't of needed to be helped.” Paige shot back.

Sometimes Randy really did appreciate the girl.

Dean huffed, clearly uncomfortable now that the group seemed to be ganging up on him. While the man certainly thrived in unrealistic odds during combat, he wasn't so eloquent with words and disliked arguing with more than one person at once. It was a weakness often exploited by Randy—among others. But then, they _were_ supervillains so such behavior was expected.

“Enough small talk. I'm going home.” Randy grunted and scooped up his belongings. His uniform would need a good washing after its hellish encounter with water, blood, and unforgiving roads, and sometime soon he'd have to explain to Hunter how exactly they'd manage to fail such an easy mission. God, he didn't have time for that douche.

" _...the scene of crime! Inside sources are saying that the only and only Authority, including the big time Viper, met their match today by none other than, well, what looks to be a drug addict with an infatuation for space._ "

Any progress made towards the door halted with the noise from the TV finally reaching his ears. He froze, expression stilling in a detached, unnerving way that instantly set the others on edge. His hand remained hovering before the cracked door, not yet ready to place itself on the knob. If Miz was reporting on the afternoon's events then that meant the rest of the city would follow. Which meant everyone would know about this and get to see their-- _his_ \--televised failure. 

Sleep. He was definitely going to sleep.

 

 

The headquarters for the Authority wasn't broadcasted as blatantly nefarious. Many would go so far as to say that it looked more like a large office than anything. A place where business could be conducted efficiently with a few beneficial rooms for its dedicated employees. It boasted a gym, a cafeteria, overnight rooms if absolutely necessary, and a lounge. Each floor was lavished with comfortable but modern furniture and economically friendly lighting. Plants--there were lots of plants too. Honestly the place faded into the background of the city considering how loud color schemes and architecture-personalities could get. But that was the point, probably. 

Compared to the arena masquerading as a strong house for the WWE, the Authority seemed small time. Randy liked it. Or he thought he did. He didn't absolutely hate it so he figured that was enough in his books to mark the building down as somewhere he wouldn't be inclined to avoid.

Sometimes Randy went home to his small apartment and watered his cacti. Sometimes he avoided the location for weeks and just camped inside the familiar confines of his workplace. Barrett liked to remark that depending on where he found him sleeping he could guess if something was badgering him or not. Randy thought that was bullshit and vocalized his opinion often but Barrett had yet remained to be deterred. 

The Bad News himself had caught wind of the entire bank fiasco--though nearly everyone else had as well--and found the ordeal entirely too amusing. He made sure to quip when he could around his vast intake of alcohol on the fifth of July. The fourth, for Randy, had been spent avoiding any and all human beings, but he couldn't skip work for longer than twenty four hours. Barrett lamented his absence and seemed to decide that he would celebrate for Orton's loss on missing such an important holiday by drinking enough for the both of them. The Englishman always did like a good party, even if it meant celebrating the, "birth of all Americans", as he was fond of putting it.

“Maybe he's a ghost.”

“Perhaps those voices of your are evolving, eh?”

“Someone has a _crush._ ”

It was a waste of time to spend any effort on a drunk and disorderly coworker, but Randy was resentful enough towards the unnecessary comments to at the very least send Wade tripping over himself and headfirst into a wall when the remarks became annoying. 

“Was that _really_ necessary?”

From his position hovering above the lanky man it seemed very necessary. Randy smiled down at him, a warning expression that spoke volumes of his ill temper.

“You look better down there. Makes your nose look smaller.”

Said nose was currently bleeding profusely and making a mess of Wade's hand and shirt. Barrett, at least, seemed calm enough about the way his nose had turned into a faucet and was more interested in making a show of sulking in a very aggressive manner. The angle of his beak had Randy betting it was broken.

“I think you _broke it_ , you prick.” 

Bingo.

His smile grew toothier at the admission, though he did relent long enough to toss a tissue box off a random desk and at Wade's face. The other man barely caught it in time, fumbling it with his bloody hand and generally making a larger mess of things. Wade had always been good at that.

“I don't understand why you care so much.” Barrett grumbled while he tried to stop his nostrils up, voice raised to a more nasally pitch once plugged, “He's obviously just stealing Goldust's—or whatever his name is—gimmick.”

Attempting to uncover information on the strange newcomer had proven to be next to impossible. Randy had been determined and alone with a laptop for an entire day but no one seemed to know his name, his origins, anything. It was as though the kid had climbed out of a cave and decided to join society to partake in a life of fighting crime after watching one too many action movies. The entire week was shaping up to be frustrating, especially after a reluctant phone call with Hunter himself (as always it ended with Hunter being Right about Everything and Randy being forced to metaphorically wank the man off since no one got to argue with Triple H). 

He'd had suspicions after even shooting an e-mail to Bray Wyatt proved to be futile--though the man became notoriously bad with faces when he bounced from obsession to obsession--that the hero wasn't actually a hero but more of a vigilante. Something like that wasn't completely unheard of when certain people struggled to play nice with either side. Randy knew for a fact that Punk was still somewhere out there, bashing heads and being a general nuisance, and that Lee girl did small time work on the side. Still, the occupation was too uncommon enough and seemed bizarrely implausible from his brief impression.

Barrett's comment stopped Randy in his mental and literal tracks, halting him from abandoning the other man for better company. Or no company at all. That was definitely preferable. Wade made another disgruntled noise and his sulky expression grew more pained from the ache that was setting in.

“Goldust?” He repeated.

“Yeah.” Barrett groaned and leaned against the wall, angling his head towards the ceiling, “Wears ridiculous amounts of make-up and costume accessories? Doesn't ever really talk to people, just bites at em'? Your lad sounds like a shoddy rip-off.”

Unexpected but intriguing. It'd be surprising if the Bad News was useful for once.

“He work for the Enforcers?”

Wade lets loose a small bark of laughter followed by a wince, “Crazy fool prances around by himself. Word has it he's one of those alien brats.”

Now that would definitely narrow down the search. Extraterrestrials were hardly unknown to the public anymore ever since the fiasco of '87 but the world as a whole was still wary of the whole...mysterious otherworldly beings thing. It didn't really make sense given that there were people out there who could literally explode cars with their mind, but governments tried to file every visitor or offspring that set foot on Earthen soil. If this Goldust truly was some sort of non-human he'd be in some sort of record. And then maybe this kid would be too.

Interesting.

“You should get that looked at.” Randy inclined his head with a mock serious expression.

“You think I _bloody should?_ How about I give you something to think about so we can be _matching_ , yeah?!”

 

*

 

“Cody! Hey Cody!”

Daniel jerked back at the sudden hiss that followed his words and sheepishly scrambled to correct himself, 

“Sorry, uh, _Stardust_ , you up to anything right now?”

Stardust, AKA _not_ Cody, AKA seeker of the ivory enterprise, AKA the fellow currently resembling an agitated bird who'd had its feathers ruffled, peered down at the shorter man, puzzled. He hadn't been in this World Wide Enforcers _thing_ very long but so far he knew for a fact that neatly every person in the building didn't quite care for him. Maybe it was the screaming and the way he buzzed around a room.

Or _maybe_ it was because they were jealous of his face paint. That sounded plausible. 

“Stardust...?”

He shifted his focus back to Bryan and stared almost accusingly at the man's meticulously cared for beard. Bryan tried to follow his eyeline and ended up cross eyed and staring down at his nose. The picture he made was vexing. Stardust grimaced.

“What--what is it? What could you _possibly_ need that requires your pursuit of my free time?” 

Bryan wilted a little at his tone but then visibly collected himself and bravely continued on with...whatever it was that he seemed resolute to follow through.

“Me and some of the guys were gonna go get something to eat and thought you might wanna join in? You did kind of save the day yesterday.”

Ah yes, his first exchange with this Authority. It had been much more fun than he'd thought--definitely high enough on the disaster scale to get reprimanded once the fight was over and violent enough to leave a pattern of bruises up his sides, but entirely satisfying. The man he'd fought had been _hilarious_ , but definitely very, very dangerous. Stardust would fight him or his lackeys again in a heartbeat--hold on, _dinner?_ With other _people?_

The very idea was incomprehensible. No one wanted to hang out with Stardust, let alone lower their guard enough to eat with him. That would involve them having to do something drastic, such as _talk_ to him. No one liked to talk to Stardust either. Well, Stardust did, but then did that really count? His nose scrunched up in concentration at the thought process and Bryan valiantly forged on with the conversation.

“It's not going to be a big thing. Just some chow at a local diner. You know me, don't like fancy stuff.” Uncomfortable laughter followed his statement.

Stardust peered at the other man with wide, unblinking eyes. He did not know Daniel at all, rendering the statement utterly unnecessary and ill placed in such context. But...perhaps it would be nice to eat with someone other than his fish for once. Although, actually, those fish definitely died a week ago. How did he forget that? No wonder his room was starting to smell a little funny. Wait, back to the more important matters. Dinner. Dinner with Daniel Bryan and maybe some other people that hopefully didn't ask intrusive questions or try to call him Cody as well.

“That sounds...acceptable.” He slowly replied, still hunched in on himself enough to look like a cornered animal about to bolt. It was a strange change from the persona he took on when in the public eye. Out there he was vibrant and opinionated. In here, in the vast walls of this fortress, he felt...small. Goldust would be laughing his trepidation if he were here, but then Goldust never struggled like he did. 

“Great!” Bryan brightened and made as though he were going to grab the taller man's arm, thinking better of it at the last possible second, “You wanna carpool with me?”

An ugly feeling bubbled underneath the surface. It was embarrassment, Stardust knew. He had never received his drivers license (or, wasn't _allowed_ to), not like all the other people on this filthy planet. He was glad in that moment for his paint as Bryan couldn't see his face heat up at the thought. 

Instead of words, for once, he nodded in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: people do more than stand around talking.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got this written up even though it really fought me.
> 
> In this chapter we get a look at Stardust's abilities and I sincerely hope it isn't too confusing to read. While it's definitely a mystery still I don't want it to be too difficult to follow along.

Dinner had been a strained but not entirely unwelcome affair. 

He and Bryan had arrived after an awkward fifteen minute car ride where Daniel couldn't seem to sit still or decide on a radio station, as though Stardust was going to judge him on his music choice or something else trivial. They pulled up to a small enough building that was warmly lit next to the darkness of the slowing drawing evening. He had been hesitant to enter a room where more than one person was going to possibly interact with him but the hopeful looks that Bryan kept sending back to him while they made their way to the front door halted his protests. There was a crookedly hanging OPEN sign as well as several community notices plastered to the inside of the door and Stardust found himself appreciating the relaxed decor at least. 

The inside was homey, booths and tables far enough from each other to allow people their own bubbles but close enough to feel some sort of...connection perhaps with other patrons and the workers. There had been nearly no one else in the diner at the time of their arrival but he could chalk that up to it being nearly nine at night. 

“We won't stay for long.” Bryan threw out as they made their way to a table with three others already seated, “I don't want to make Brie pull overtime.”

The question must have shown in his eyes because Daniel hurried to inform him, “Just a waitress who works here. She's, uh, nice.”

His ears colored at that and Stardust decided not to make any comment on the subject at all, to which Bryan seemed grateful for. Instead he turned his gaze to the closest man, Roman Reigns.

Reigns was comfortable in his skin. He was big, large enough to make Stardust envious, and had pulled his hair into a loose bun. The man garnered attention wherever he went, be it on the job or not—though everyone knew about Roman Reigns. He was one of the few WWE fighters who allowed his real identity to be his code name as well. While such a move was normally too risky and dangerous for many to consider, Stardust felt as though Roman probably made it work. He didn't foresee any villain trying to get the drop on the tough brawler often.

“Sup, guys.” Daniel plopped into a seat next to an unknown woman and Stardust took the last.

The man beside him was tall enough to possibly be gangly if he didn't have muscle on him, and had shaved his head though kept a stubbly beard of sorts. He had an amicable air about him and a small smile on his face while he watched the blonde woman across from him enthusiastically give Daniel a hug. 

“Danny! Heard about your big win.” The woman playfully shoved his shoulder and Bryan heaved a dramatic sigh.

“I didn't do much. Set some stuff on fire. Almost got eaten or whatever, y'know, the usual.” He was smiling despite his words, “Stardust though, you should've seen that.”

The man and woman turned to stare interestedly at him and for the first time in a long time Stardust felt self conscious of his face paint. Did it look okay? Was the star crooked? Did he choose the correct colors to coordinate with his current outfit? He both begun to hunch in on himself and tried to crane his neck up enough to look as though he wasn't gawking at them in a self conscious way, eyes wide and lips pursed. The woman seemed only slightly put off by his disposition and gave him a welcoming smile. The man slapped his back firmly but in encouragement.

“Very good! It's always a good day to teach those big bad guys where their place is.” The man had an accent, not strong enough to make him difficult to understand but prominent enough to make Stardust curious.

“Who are you?” He bluntly inquired and half heartedly straightened his back without making it seem like he had been thrown off by the sudden touch.

“Ah, right to the point. I am Cesaro—it's nice to meet you.” Cesaro held out a hand to shake and Stardust tentatively touched it before withdrawing his own. To his credit Cesaro only looked vaguely bemused before continuing, “This lady right here is my good friend, Natalya.”

“ _Good friend._ ” Natalya rolled her eyes but as far as Stardust could tell wasn't offended in any way, “So you're the guy the news stations are going on about?”

News stations were talking about him? He hadn't heard about that. Although that was probably a good thing and something he'd have to look at by himself later. For now he tried to shake off the uneasy feeling at learning this information and gave a forced smile of sorts in return.

“I can only _imagine._ ” He answered, “I didn't realize that our... _business_ was that great of an ordeal to the general public. We only stopped some robbers.”

Roman snorted at that and drew their attention. The man lazily shrugged a single shoulder, not bothering to uncross his arms or shift from his sprawled position. He eyed Stardust for a moment, assessing. About what the man was thinking Stardust had no clue, but Roman seemed less tense than he had been, like he had eased something in the man's mind.

“Those robbers weren't exactly small time.” It seemed Roman was going to spell out some important information for him, “Well, not all of them. The Viper and the Knight aren't exactly your run of the mill criminals.”

“Lunatic too.” Natalya muttered, though Roman ignored her.

“What you did out there...rookies don't just walk away from the Viper especially.” He specified, “Hell, veterans don't either.”

“I wasn't exactly in the most _perfect condition_ afterwards.” Stardust dryly pointed out, bruised ribs twinging in agreement. Roman finally grinned at that, a small but oddly comforting expression on his face. It made him appear less thirsty for blood in the very least which was an improvement.

“None of us were. Like I said, you don't walk away from the big dogs without any scratches or nothing. Point remaining, you did good. Even Cena was impressed.”

Bryan barked a laugh at that, leaning his chair back to balance on two legs. “If I didn't know him better I'd say he was jealous. Usually he's the one who's gotta take care of the Viper.”

 _Jealous?_ Now that was an inconceivable but interesting concept. Stardust had never made a single person jealous of him in his life. He was a walking example of a being who made others normally feel better about themselves once they laid eyes on him. He could feel his smile grow wider at the information and Bryan seemed content over the fact that he had helped relax Stardust even slightly. These people...weren't bad. They were nice, he mused. Nicer than others who he'd had exchanges with in the past. The time would inevitably come that they would show how they truly felt about him but he supposed it wouldn't hurt to bask in their pretending for a little while. 

A young waitress finally walked up, sensing a lull in the conversation and fixed a bright smile on them. Bryan very nearly toppled over in his chair, ears turning a shade of red again and, hm, if that wasn't interesting.

“How are we doing tonight?” The question was to everyone but in Stardust's opinion seemed to be directed more towards Daniel who, in turn, struggled to stammer out some sort of response back.

“Pretty good. You having a good night, Brie?” 

Stardust zoned out just enough for a short time and glanced discretely around the table. The people gathered weren't what he was used to and there was a definite sense of comradery, even with the pretty waitress. For a moment he could actually enjoy the dinner. He wasn't foolish enough to assume this would happen often, if ever, again but that didn't mean he couldn't appreciate the little things.

 

*

 

“You just gotta go through the obstacle course so we know you're ready. We don't want to risk anyone getting hurt.”

He should've seen this coming, probably. After what Bryan told him it would only make sense that others would be interested in what he could do. 

Cena's voice was steady, unjudgemental, but his eyes said otherwise. Eyes were fickle things; Stardust found they gave away a person's true intentions. Right now the bigger man's eyes were telling him he was distrustful despite the fact that they'd been forced to fight together only a few days ago. It wasn't like Stardust had jumped at the opportunity to fist fight some poor suckers who robbed a bank. He had been doing _important_ things when the alarm had gone off (the alarm being Naomi hollering at the top of her lungs to anyone she spotted about them needing to get their asses into gear because she was not about to waste her time when she had errands to run). And so, roped into a hastily strung together group of four by a very aggressive woman, he had gone along with everything. 

The other three at the time had seemed unsettled by his frustration, unable to grasp the basic concept that they had interrupted the little free time he had these days. Yes, his free time definitely involved studying space, planets, and some of the void's greatest unanswered mysteries, but that didn't mean it was any less important than punching bags of sand or something similar. It was all just...it was all happening again exactly the same. This situation was an exact copy of any previous experience he had been forced to drag himself through that involved living with or around other human beings. Things always started out neutral enough and then eventually lead to disaster. They just didn't understand—didn't _want_ to understand—and at the end of the day Stardust was forced once more to accommodate himself so that he wasn't avoided entirely.

He didn't like this group. He didn't like anyone really. Bryan and his friends had been alright but here he was jumping through hoops to prove himself and treated like some trainee who had no field experience. Sure, he hadn't done too much crime fighting before the present, but he'd had some brief trials with Goldust when he was planetside. 

...Not that any of them knew—if they somehow uncovered well hidden truths he was positive the treatment he received on a daily basis would sour. Just like before.

Stardust was tired of being “tested” and told he had to show his stuff again and again. He had gone toe to toe with—according to the news even—a big time supervillain and triumphed. What more proof did they need? There seemed to be this assumption that just because his choice in expression wasn't exactly “normal” or “publicly appropriate” to some people that he was an idiot. He knew his stance was tensing, lips thinned to a displeased slash across his face and eyes narrowed. John's expression became harsher the moment he caught wind of his changing attitude.

Well, Cena could deal with it.

“I've run this before!” He protested loudly and pointed accusingly towards the course and, by chance, the cargo net where he recalled ripping his suit on a jutting piece of metal the last time he was forced to scamper through it like a rat in a maze.

Cena followed the motion with his eyes and stared at the course in question, unimpressed. He was gearing up for some sort of lecture, Stardust could tell. His body would always inflate with self righteousness and his hands would try to take on some sympathetic but firm position. Stardust hated lectures—he hated having to stand still and pretend he gave a crap.

“Maybe you've done this before—”

“I have! You were _there!_ ”

John awkwardly cleared his throat, “Well, you haven't done this with actual enemies.”

The statement gave him pause, “...Actual enemies.”

“ _Simulated_ enemies. We chase you down and try to stop you. If we do, you fail. Get across the finish line and you graduate.”

Actual enemies— _graduate?!_ What ever happened to that “bold and daring battle” (as the news stations had put it)? Apparently that was all chopped liver next to John Cena's standards. Jealous, huh. Stardust scoffed, hunching up defensively and glaring petulantly at the other man. They acted as if he were a child, as though he couldn't grasp the basic concepts of mere social niceties. He didn't want to dignify this conversation with a response but he knew the reaction would only encourage assumptions. He was on his own here and that meant he had to play along with all their ridiculous demands—for now.

“Who else has agreed to this absurd scheme?” Stardust stiffly asked.

John looked relieved that he had relinquished fighting and eased off of trying to stare him down.

“The Usos.”

Splendid, the twins. Stardust grimaced and picked the cloth of his glove. The Usos were frustrating and they always seemed to find everything he did comical; always laughing at him not with him. He hated their linked psychic abilities or whatever it was, it made it nearly impossible to one up them in any way. The only hints he ever picked up on were when one or the other overlapped in mannerisms and reactions, which was admittedly difficult to keep track of anyways given that he didn't know them well at all.

“Does it _have_ to be them?” He griped. His reluctance only fueled Cena and obviously reassured the man that the twins were the right pick.

“Would you rather it not be a challenge?” There was humor in his voice.

“ _I'd rather_ be acknowledged for what I've already done.” He countered.

“And you will be. After this one last test.” Cena shrugged as though the situation was out of his hands. Stardust kind of wanted to punch him in the head.

“What's a matter, man?” Great—which one was it? Stardust could never tell them apart. “ _Scared?_ ”

He scowled and resisted the urge to hiss at the duo of offenders that were swaggering over with an unusual level of confidence. They had to be feeling as though victory was imminent if they weren't even going to exercise the slightest of caution in suddenly invading his personal space. He stepped towards them, the movement jerky and off beat enough to halt them both in their advancement and remind them who exactly they were talking to. Unofficial member of the World Wide Enforcers or not, he had been forced to deal with their trickery far too often during his tryout days and just as he was aware of their skills, they were aware he wasn't one that liked to be pushed around.

“What exactly does...'stopping me', entail?” And he couldn't resist adding the quotation marks with his fingers.

“Knocking you out for starters.” Jey—or Jimmy...?--snickered, clearly eager to begin the test. Cena shot him a look and tried to regain his hold on the already troublesome group.

“If you are unable to advance within a ten second hold, then you lose.”

Unable to advance? Ah, extremely well thought out. Glorious, now he could potentially have his posterior kicked six ways to Sunday and it'd all be completely legal per Cena's regulations as long as he were to keep advancing. Perhaps that was the psychological aspect to all this. If he allowed himself to play opossum and take the ten seconds in the face of more pain and danger he probably wasn't meant to be much of a hero. Then again, Stardust never saw himself as much of a hero anyways.

At this point he just wanted to wipe the smirks off of the twin's faces.

“Ready?” Cena pointedly eyeballed the starting line, just as impatient as the other two but more _subtle_ about it.

Stardust didn't answer, too frustrated by the odds to do more than make a few varied displeased noises that were akin to a peeved bird or cat vocalizing their anger. He did walk to the starting line despite his instincts telling him to turn the other way and put some distance between himself and imminent hurt. He could handle pain. It wasn't his most favorite thing in the world by any means but he had always been resilient even though everyone around him had seemed to think different. 

Time to fake it until he made it. 

“Dude, what are you _doing?_ ” J-something-or-other stared at him, disgruntled and definitely thrown off by his new found confidence.

He bared his teeth back at him in what could be called a grin if a person was to be legally blind, and eased into a lunge. The twin wonders seemed puzzled by his extremely off kilter form, back arched one way and then another, at first stood still in the stretch and then front rolled smoothly back to his feet with his arms going whatever direction felt right. Stardust didn't know what was the matter if he were to be honest, he was just warming up after all, but he knew this was not how people normally did things by the way people had reacted before and so made a point of performing what made nearby observers uncomfortable. He knew that, he really did. Maybe. The knowledge of normal customs was there to potentially be picked through.

Bouncing on the balls of his feet and then transitioning into bopping back and forth also seemed off putting to them. Heathens.

“Preparing to make you consume my intergalactic spacedust.” He answered, tone perfectly friendly considering the circumstances.

(Say what he will about the twins but they always caught on to shade being thrown at them, advanced vernacular be damned. Cena, however, was definitely struggling to keep up if the pensive frown on his face was any indication.)

“Start the timer, Cena.” The closest man growled and bumped his way past his brother.

“Timer?” They hadn't mentioned anything about a time limit. The specifications were getting out of hand. Was he meant to birth a new born while he was at it? Maybe prepare a full course dinner?

“We can't take all afternoon on this, Stardust.” John smiled ruefully at him and reached over to tap his finger once on a small touchscreen embedded in the wall. Immediately after the course lit up and the giant screen hung above it all pulled up what was definitely five minutes counting down. “When you're ready.”

Way to give a guy warning. 

Stardust growled but hesitated no longer, springing into the first obstacle of the course: the quintuple step. 

This was no challenge—it never was. Momentum carried his mass deftly back and forth across each angled platform and allowed him a few seconds to try and cobble together some sort of plan. So far his only advantage he held over the other men was that they weren't necessarily aware of anything he could do past, “He moves really fast and sometimes punches hard.” On the other hand his...inherited gift wasn't exactly the most convenient skill to pull out in the middle of battle and often times was poorly timed enough that it didn't matter if he used it or not. It was all he could do to keep it at bay during strained situations and he wondered if letting it loose was a good idea for his mental state.

An energetic chuckle nearly level with his ear caused him to pick up speed. The twins were better than he remembered--they must recall his previous tricks to elude their grasp during all hours of the day. If they were already on top of him this early in the game then normal cat and mouse wasn't going to cut it. He needed to go more on the offensive.

There was no pause between catching his balance off the platforms and then hurtling himself up the incline next. His boots slipped on the slick rubber but caught just enough for him to frantically grasp at the edge and hoist himself up. It was, of course, his luck that he'd be staring straight at a familiar pair of boots and a dark skinned set of legs up close and personal once he'd hauled himself to safety. 

They had gotten _really_ good.

The man immediately tried to curb stomp him, foot coming up into a near perfect arc and then descending with quite a bit of ferocity. Stardust yelped and rolled out of the way just in time, the boot smashed into the spot where his chest had been only moments before. The two certainly weren't playing games anymore and he really didn't have time to spare given that he was already down to four minutes. He kicked out and was rewarded with connecting with one shin, putting enough space between himself and the Uso to scramble to his feet and then launch himself at the cliffhanger course from his perch on the tall climbing spot. This wasn't by any means what a person was supposed to do in these circumstances (or any for that matter), he knew. But Cena had said nothing about him having to proceed through the course in the most difficult and straight edge way possible. So, hence his jump from his nearly horizontal position with the normally impossible obstacle.

People were supposed to haul their masses across tiny bars suspended in the air with only their fingers. Stardust landed heavily on the top just enough to bruise his ribs further, and that drew a pained yelp from him, but to also use his entire upper body to shimmy over the death trap. He had confidence in his ability to hold his own, but not when it involved something as ridiculous and over the top as this. 

“That's cheating, man!” One of the twins was quickly gaining again.

“Never—said anything about—obstacle regulations!” And he finally reached the end, lower half still dangled off of the metal beast, “Just—time limits!”

The fall from the third section was not pretty, that Stardust was certain of. He knew he had let loose some sort of high pitched squeal when he had let go and nearly cracked his chin during his decent before he had been cut off via all his air being knocked out of him by the floor. A twin was definitely outright laughing.

“He's right.” Cena's voice gave him just the second he needed to catch his breathe, ribs throbbing painfully, “As long as he gets through he's clear.”

The twins were still protesting loudly when Stardust staggered towards the next challenge, not stupid enough to try something a little too out there with cutting through things lest he test John's patience. The jump hang was simple enough but it cut into time far too easily and was where he'd ruined his last outfit. They'd since fixed the broken metal, he noted with annoyance. It would've been nice to catch one of the men on that. Would serve them right.

He ran and sprang onto the trampoline as heavily as he could, propelling himself just high and far enough to catch the net and practically wiggle his way to the top. He didn't want to risk going underneath, not with three other people tracking him down. 

“Gotcha!” A hand closed on his ankle just as he maneuvered himself over the edge, upsetting his balance enough to send him fumbling backwards. The guilty twin grinned triumphantly from his position and tried to wrap an arm around his leg further while the identical copy jogged up. 

Stardust allowed himself to go limp for just a moment, just enough to tip their weight towards the drop and the water. The man further away was able to spot was about to happen before his brother, and then Stardust could feel when the one clinging onto him received the relay of information. Too late. 

“Jey—watch out!” Jimmy (apparently) called.

At the last possible second Stardust caught himself and slammed his free foot into Jey's shoulder, prying him loose and sending him hurtling to the pit of water beneath. The loud splash that followed was satisfying enough to form a smile on his face and he tumbled down the cargo net to the bottom safely. Jey was yelping along with Jimmy behind him and he was, for once, thankful for the odd psychic connection that they had. While it meant they could see through each others eyes and switch places mentally in dire circumstances, it also meant if they were connected when one of them met untimely demises they both experienced the failure.

Twice the victory. Stardust liked the sound of that.

He was definitely cackling as he sprinted up a slight half pipe incline, the familiar thrum of his power coursing through his muscles and speeding him up, and jumped the distance to the hanging rope ahead. The landing was nailed without fail and without a misstep. There was a fire growing in his belly, a warmth of knowing that he wasn't losing as badly as he thought he was going to and that he was going to be able to gloat about this for days to come. If anyone listened.

It was during the next obstacle he felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle. The weight he had been shoving to proceed towards the final stretch was all but forgotten when the world was yanked into too-intense focus. His secondary power, his inconvenient crutch, had activated without warning as it had a habit of doing when he was in danger.

Stardust comprehended what was going to happen seconds before it did, double vision searing across his retinas and scorching his brain with the frantic buzz of information needed to advert the incoming future. His muscles tensed, adrenaline spiked into overdrive as the two abilities overlapped momentarily to get him to safety and away from a very metallic and very enthusiastic John Cena's fist. 

Cena's attack traveled through the weight, punching a hole into it as though it was hardly even there. Powers like these—this was what Stardust both hated and envied. Bryan had said John was the jealous one, but if only he knew how toxic Stardust's own was. Things would be so much easier if he could turn his entire body to metal and just batter his enemies to death or summon fire and fling it around. No, he had to be the slightly faster guy with the slightly better strength and slightly better endurance. 

...Well, that and his odd psychic ability but then Stardust still wasn't quite sure what to make of it after all this time and the others didn't need to be aware of it.

Rattling coming from John attempting to shake his hand loose from the sandbag jolted Stardust out of his entranced stare and he quickly blinked and felt the red haze from his sight begin to clear. It was like blowing a stuffy nose or medicine for a head cold finally kicking in. Activating the...whatever it was (whether intentionally or not) clogged up his brain and made it feel like he was watching two screens at once, both the present and the possible futures traveling the maze of his brain in a split second and all but clogging up his thoughts with what was real and what wasn't yet. 

His father had once tried to explain it to him and prepare him for the rough years of puberty that were ahead. It hadn't worked—whatever Stardust had was some offshoot of what his father had. Somewhere along the lines of his genetic makeup being formed the ability had mutated into something different that was overwhelming and confusing, not as simple as reading a person's mind like his dad. It was too strong to ever turn off completely. Luckily, it became useful in situations like these where it would activate without warning to save his skin, like a last resort defense mechanism. Dire things, like somehow knowing how and when a man's giant ham hand was going to try decapitating him for the sake of an exercise, could usually be averted.

Stardust hissed at Cena and then hurriedly jerked away, scurrying towards the finish line. All he had to do was dodge the hammers and he was home free. Then he could get Cena off of his back and have time to himself without every single person in this building questioning his motives. 

The fog clouded his mind again without permission and snapped multiple things into focus. Cena, Jey, Jimmy, the final stretch. He wasn't going to mess this up. The hammer, water, possible injured knee, possible broken arm. He wasn't going to be thrown off by some last minute ditch effort by anyone or thing that would ensure him having to do this all over again at a later date. Less likely paths faded and the more brightly lit blinded his thoughts.

To an outside observer he looked like a man suddenly gone still, a stare blankly fixed on the path ahead, hands limply hung by his side. Cena had just enough time after popping his arm free to see the first hammer finish its arc upwards and then begin its decent down. He started towards Stardust's frozen form, intent on nailing him to the floor before the hammer even reached him. Jey and Jimmy were lunging in from a side opposite, arms outstretched to deal out identical damage.

All three targets closed in on Stardust and then he reacted so fast there was no time to counter. Cena was easily side stepped without so much as a glance behind him and immediately after he dropped flat to the floor. It was simple to counter when he thought about it. Or, was forced to think about it. 

John careened straight into both Usos, all three men crashing together a millisecond before the hammer whizzed over Stardust and made impact, sending them flying. The air achieved was awe inspiring, as was the slapping sound their skin made upon their connection with the water surrounding the obstacle. Stardust watched, eyes widened in admiration and a manic-tinged smile cutting through all his makeup. He rolled easily forward and practically sauntered through the remaining three hammers, scooting and weaving around the paths without fail while the pressure ebbed away from his head.

To the side Jimmy was spluttering and cursing loudly as he pulled Jey to his feet, Cena laying almost serenely in the water. He was hurting, Stardust could tell, and was trying to appear as though he wasn't. He was willing to bet he had an awful case of pink belly.

He pressed the button and enjoyed, for once, the loud blaring that signaled the course's end and the timer paused on eighteen seconds. That certainly settled that. Heaving a sigh he toppled down onto his butt and then flopped to his back. It was only now he realized how out of breathe and sore he was. Stretching his legs out was a painful effort, one that signaled how slow he was going to be tomorrow. It was worth it though. It was worth it to feel like he was going to practically fall apart at any second when he knew now they'd have to acknowledge his skill and treat him like an ally, not a rookie. It was worth it even when he felt a dribble of blood exit his nose, quickly wiped away and smeared into his glove.

As he heard the Usos struggle to get to land and Cena as he began his trek over to him, Stardust smiled up at the ceiling and felt vindictive glee.

If his family could see him now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Randy's lovely life with people he definitely does not loathe.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY we are reaching the introduction to the main plot. You guys won't have to sit around and wonder what the point of this story is now.
> 
> Certain terms are being used in this that could get confusing so let me make a list here for your convenience in case it isn't clear enough:
> 
> \- Artificial = alien/off planet species  
> \- IAC = Illegal Artificial Committee, aka the group that keeps track of aliens   
> \- DECF = Desert End Correctional Facility, the largest prison in the state  
> \- Power positive = should be obvious, people with powers
> 
> We're starting to get into some of the history/lore that I'm mapping out too so don't worry if the characters talk about events that aren't fully explained.

“First of all, his name isn't actually Goldust, genius.”

Randy frowned down at Seth, expression pinched enough to make him appear as though he'd smelled something bad. Rollins wasn't bothered and continued on with barely a glance towards him.

“Goldust is a codename—kinda like, I dunno, _the Viper._ ”

He could've figured that out on his own. He _would've_ eventually figured that out on his own.

“And who did you get this information from?” Randy envisioned throttling the smaller man. Seth grinned up at him in response and then dramatically adjusted his glasses with a flourish.

“Oh, y'know, I got connections everywhere.” The copied words of Hunter himself, which meant he had probably invaded the mind of some poor techie and made them scrounge any details out. “This definitely means you _owe_ me now.”

Randy snorted, “You owe me at least twenty times more, Rollins. So consider your debt list down to about nineteen.”

Seth had no comeback for that and took on the demeanor of a petulant child. The man was absolutely spoiled as one of Hunter's favorites. Randy remembered both a favorite and then a target—Seth hadn't ever fully experienced how bad Hunter could be. It was unfortunate but Randy wasn't about to tell the brat different. He deserved to learn on his own time.

“Well then maybe you can find out your own intel.” Seth fumed, not yet willing to let the argument go (he never let any argument go).

“Maybe I'll tell Ambrose where you live.” Randy mildly responded, comfortable reclined against the wall.

Seth finally shut up at that. The Dean threat was his ultimate weapon against Rollins and won him near every single fight. Randy wasn't positive what exactly occurred between the two, but he had an idea and the information was solid gold blackmail against the Authority's star brat. With the atmosphere changed to something more uncertain and the balance weighed more in his favor, Randy allowed a smile towards Seth. It wasn't a nice one; Rollins paled considerably.

“Okay—okay! Jeez, what's so important about this guy anyways?”

“I believe that's none of your business.” Randy lazily straightened, “So cough it up before I make you.”

“I risk my neck and you aren't even gonna let me in on any of this?” Seth whined, “What kinda trade off is this?”

“The kind that isn't a trade but you _following orders._ ” He was getting impatient and it must have shown in his tone or expression because Seth finally backed down with a sliver of dignity intact.

“The guy you're looking for is Dustin Rhodes. There isn't any recent info on him though—he basically disappeared off the face of the planet a few years ago which is, frankly, kinda impressive.”

Rhodes...? Where had Randy heard that surname before? His brow furrowed in thought and automatically Seth raised a hand to ward the line of thought off.

“Yeah, yeah. It was familiar to me too.” He shuffled through the papers he had in hand until he was able to pull one free from his stack, “Dusty Rhodes—you ever heard of him?”

Randy froze, eyeballing the man in disbelief. Seth's humorless smile only furthered the feeling of trepidation. The smaller man shoved the paper into his hands, a file Randy already knew well.

“You used to scuffle with him in your early days, right?” Seth's voice was soft, coaxing, gentle enough to lull him into letting his guard down.

Little shit. Randy glared warningly down at him and Seth immediately tried to pretend he hadn't just tried to force that info out. The power may work on weaker and less experienced minds but Randy had fought with Bray Wyatt before. He was no amateur.

“As a matter of fact, I did.” He confirmed and flicked the file back into Seth's grasp, “But he went MIA a few years back.”

Apparently Rollins hadn't been aware of that tidbit with the way he stared holes into the info he'd collected. Overachievers were incredibly annoying. 

It was somewhat surprising that Seth hadn't known this, it had been big news for months back in the day. Someone coughed in the distance, breaking up the hum of the quiet office and shaking Rollins out of whatever self-loathing trance he had put himself into. Seth huffed and freed a hand to shove messy bangs out of his face.

“So—so what, this was all a waste of time then?” Nothing nagged at Rollins more than discovering his hard work was for nothing.

“Not necessarily. You got me a name.” Randy thoughtfully replied, finger tapping against his arm. 

Seth adjusted his obnoxiously fashionable glasses again, a nervous tick of his, and looked prepared to run all the paperwork through a shredder still. The smaller man glanced back and forth down the hallway several times before leaning in to conspiratorially whisper.

“Did this guy do somethin' to piss you off?”

Randy would've been offended if that wasn't a reason for most of his actions. There was no point in confirming or denying the question, Rollins didn't need to know any more for now. He had done his work and now he wasn't of use. The other man was hard to shake once he was invested in figuring something out but Randy knew a method of escape. He looked behind Seth's shoulder and allowed his expression to change minutely with surprise, widened his eyes a tad and injected a hint of amusement. Rollins froze, unsure if there was someone to fear behind him or not.

“Ambrose, good to see you.” Randy drawled.

Seth tensed with horror and hurriedly turned only to spot no one there at all. Randy was already to the elevator and had smoothly swiped Seth's files from the top of the stack. Sometimes it was just too easy.

*

Randy's apartment wasn't anything impressive. When he was younger he had owned something more extravagant but that had been when he'd thought the more wealth he could get his hands on the more respect he'd earned. That line of thinking was long gone, shattered after an encounter with a pissed off Hunter and a sledgehammer. 

These days he understood bills better and it was nice to pay less per month than a small fortune. Besides, it wasn't like he was robbing a bank once per week anymore; that would be killer on his back and knees (and, shit, he sounded like an old man).

The apartment was small but not too cramped. It had a bathroom, a bedroom, and a kitchen-living room combination. He'd specifically chosen this years ago because it had a balcony and a fairly nice view of the city as it was 23 stories up and in the middle of the chaos. It was neither clean nor dirty, empty or full. Randy bought necessary furniture when he needed it, usually with the help of Paige or, when they were feeling aggressively social, the Bella twins. There was, therefore, a clash in colors. Where Paige liked darker colors—blacks and blues—the Bella twins leaned more towards warmer, lighter shades like reds, browns, and oranges. The result was a bathroom decorated to look like a gothic teens fantasy, his living room looking like he was the ultimate sports fan, and his kitchen the unfortunate spawn of both.

His bedroom was the only inch left untouched by outside influences; well, that and his porch. He figured it said a lot about him that it was basically bare of color save for blankets and a rug. It didn't matter, he hardly ever slept in it and mainly used it as a storage room of sorts. Boxes were packed to the brim with miscellaneous items from previous exploits and carefully piled in available spaces. The bed was too lumpy and uncomfortable and there was a rickety desk shoved into the spare corner that he couldn't remember exactly when he'd added it. Despite the numerous times he'd considered getting a new mattress it was simpler to crash on the couch, which had molded over the years to his liking.

Randy's favorite spot remained the balcony. It was just a small porch but he had his cacti carefully arranged and a small plastic chair with a beat up flower patterned cushion over the seat. The door slid open and was close enough to a plug that Randy could sit outside in the evenings when he couldn't sleep and use his laptop. Perhaps to others his living situation wasn't ideal but for all Randy used it for, it was perfect.

By the time he'd opened his door (and then refastened all five locks) the sun had begun its decent and night was falling. He was thankful for that. Not only did the city cool down to more reasonable levels but it meant his neighbors wouldn't spot him since they were working. Unsociable was what he'd been called before by many. In dire need of anger management as well, but that was old news and something he was never going to be committed to fix. Randy didn't necessarily dislike interacting with others. It was more that he found other people either annoying or dangerous. He'd had too many troubling experiences in the past to ease up on his paranoia.

The only sound in the small apartment was the background hum of the city; a sort of buzz of vehicles, people shouting, and possibly his A/C on the fritz again. Randy tossed the papers he'd swiped onto the kitchen counter and grabbed the nearest clothes out of his room to change into. In public dressing intimidatingly was beneficial. In private he wanted sweatpants and loose, old shirts for comfort. The shirt he'd grabbed proudly declared that he'd run in some sort of marathon. He hadn't.

His fridge never had too much in it at one time. Given that he was prone to skipping out on going home for days at a time he didn’t' like to stock his living space with easily perishable foods. There were frozen dinners in the small freezer space and a couple beers for now.

The news was flipped on, his flat-screen the most expensive item he owned. He hated Miz TV and had on CEW instead—Jojo and Renee were more informative anchors in his opinion and they had the added benefit of not being utterly headache inducing.

Randy wanted to look more into the information Seth had scrounged up. The other man hadn't realized just how mind boggling this was—he had joined the Authority only a few years back and didn't have the fifteen Randy had racked up already. The techie had been one of their college recruits, picked up by Hunter himself during the annual visitations. Randy hated going to those things. It was always a long ordeal that involved finding out if a future graduate was both talented enough and if they had any unusual gifts. While not every hired employee had powers (or were entirely aware of what went on with the company), the bosses upstairs always were in need of those who were a combination of both. 

They tried to do the finding out part without the individual being aware given that it would be odd if a business faction was found to be researching people with unique gifts. While it wasn't exactly unusual for a person with abilities that benefited their work to be specifically sought after by rival companies, Hunter and Stephanie liked to give off the impression that they were old fashioned white collar bosses that valued hard work ethic above absolute power.

Rollins was, unfortunately, perfect in that he was good at what he majored in and could control people with his mind. Hunter had been beside himself with plans for Seth in the beginning, though Randy doubted he saw the young man in such a favorable light now. Sometimes Randy was glad that he had never been seen as anything other than a weapon when he'd first been taken in. Other times he wondered if things would've been different now if he'd received the kind of adoration and care that Seth luxuriated in.

Dinner was going to be some odd looking green beans and what he hoped was meatloaf. While the microwave hummed, blended with the murmur of the television, Randy booted his laptop up. 

Dusty Rhodes had been a prominent figure for the WWE. He was the American Dream and had possessed a regal yet cheeky countenance that citizens fell in love with. Randy remembered brief scuffles in his early years where Dusty had kicked his ass and inadvertently taught him valuable lessons in underestimating an opponent via their appearance. Rhodes made it clear that he was a one man army who had no weaknesses and, for all intents and purposes, any admiring citizen was to be kept out of his problems lest a person wanted to end up in the hospital with numerous regrets and broken bones.

The man was missing—years ago he had vanished and left behind no trace of where he could've possibly gone. The city searched for him, heroes, villains, and the average person alike. Someone like Dusty didn't just up and disappear into thin air, not when he was so well received and was such a pillar of the community. Months passed and nothing could be scrounged up. The admiration Dusty once had spoiled and turned into something looked on with less love and more resentment. People couldn't understand why he would abandon the city, abandon _them._

The most important part of this, Randy mused, was that even when he had run away or whatever it was that he did, he didn't leave any indication of having a son. It was probably best that Goldust had disappeared too—if this information was leaked he'd have vengeful enemies of his father and the press at his throat in seconds. This did beg the question of whether or not Goldust left with his father, and what exactly had transpired to make Dusty virtually disconnect himself completely from his son.

Interesting.

On a whim Randy pulled up a search page and found numerous articles on Dusty's initial missing persons report. All said the same thing and had no indication of the info he possessed. Reporters were ruthless and as more time had passed questioned his motives, portraying the American Dream in a less favorable light. It was subtle, starting with something like, “Oh, what a shame. He was such a good man.”, and leading into, “But was he _really_ a saint? Sources say that...”

People had kept up hope for months and even now Randy could think of a few individuals who still seemed to think that the great Rhodes was going to leap out of the shadows to dance aggressively towards crime to send it packing. It was ridiculous but the fact remained that Dusty had been a large influence on people and, while he hadn't been perfect by any means, he had been a better person than most. After time most just assumed he was dead or in hiding. Randy wasn't sure what the thought; what he did know was that it meant there was one less troublesome person to deal with on a weekly basis.

But...Dustin Rhodes.

It was curious that Dusty had managed to keep Dustin a secret for so long—hell, even now Randy wasn't sure if Seth had just been fucking with him. Continued research at least revealed that the former mercenary copying his father's actions was true enough. One day all the records of the man just stopped, but unlike the fanfare his father had received when he had left no one save for small time power-enthusiasts had questioned the odd situation. So there went the option of trying to question the man himself. Dead ends were popping up everywhere and it was as infuriating as it was suspicious.

Blogs spoke of Goldust's odd personality and style of combat. Apparently he had been a handful, nicknamed further as, “The Bizzare One”, which was plain embarrassing in Randy's opinion. He had some sort of cult following on the internet that had liked to track all his dealings, and he wasn't officially part of any one side but had seemed to lean more towards helping the WWE. Perhaps the most intriguing material was that he'd acted like an off-planet Artificial which had led to mass speculation on forums. 

There was no possible way for Dustin Rhodes to be related to Dusty if he was some sort of alien. The man had been human and hybrids were few and far in between given how much all species trapped on this world didn't trust each other. People had claimed Goldust was something completely non-human but nothing about being some sort of halfie. If he had been suspected there would've been less worship, more disgust and possible attempts to get him arrested and put into the Illegal Artificial Committee's records. Even so Randy paused from exiting a gossip article on the subject, the newbie's red eyes burning bright in his mind. His left knee ached enough for him to switch his position with a grunt. It was somewhat amazing that just wanting to find out a little about the new kid had led to him accidentally uncovering a conspiracy. At the same he wondered if he even wanted to do this, wanted to waste his time with something that might be so off topic of his original goal that he didn't gain anything from this at all.

Who was he kidding, this was a locked off gold mine of blackmail; it wouldn't hurt to look into rumors and his develop his own mental map. With nearly nothing to go on and no further evidence to confirm Seth's research, he figured he didn't really have any other choice. He was going to have to take his own notes and do his own investigating which was aggravating. Randy hated doing leg work like this, it wasn't in his style. Maybe if Rollins hadn't unveiled the Rhodes connection he would've let this go, just treated the rookie like the rest of the WWE. He was in too deep already though, and he knew it. Randy Orton didn't like having to slog through incredibly tangled mysteries but he did love to find out a good secret to play games with that no one else knew. And this? This was a potentially damn well kept secret if he'd ever seen one.

The look on Hunter's face if he ever managed to piece this together...well, it'd be damn satisfying to have a leg up for once.

The sun had set and the city was bathed in the neon from signs and lights scattered around the buildings, stars only faintly showing above. Some sort of infomercial was playing on the television and Randy realized that three hours had already passed without his knowledge. Had he even eaten? A quick glance at the microwave and his stomach growling alerted him that no, he had not.

There was still work to be done if he wanted to get anywhere on this odd, budding puzzle but he wouldn't be able to do much if he was starving and sleep deprived. The laptop was shut off after bookmarking anything of importance and Randy made his way over to glumly poke at his now lukewarm, soggy meatloaf.

Disgusting.

The food was dumped into the trashcan at the same time his phone went off, vibrating on the counter and screen lighting up. That never boded well—the only time people called him was when there was work to be done that he wouldn't like. It was one in the morning and Randy didn't want to answer the call, didn't want to help out anyone with whatever trouble they'd gotten themselves in. But after a look at his screen it was Hunter's number and he'd catch hell tomorrow if he didn't cater to whatever whim the man had conjured up. There wasn't any point to pretend he had been asleep, no one could lie to Triple H. At least, no one Randy knew of.

“Orton.” Was the first thing Hunter said, name spit out like a demand.

“Who else would it be?” He tried to keep his tone light but he was positive some sort of irritation bleed into his words. If Hunter noticed he didn't mention, which meant the conversation was even worse—it was important.

“I need you at Desert End Correctional Facility _now._ ” 

The city jail? That was not what Randy had been expecting. He must have paused a millisecond too long in confusion because Hunter sighed loudly on the other end, crackling the line with his breath. He sounded entirely too put upon, as though he was the one who was being called at the odd hours of the night for another probable pointless excursion that he couldn't refuse. 

“Questions later, Orton. You have twenty minutes.” The line went dead.

And, Jesus, was Hunter getting moodier with age (that was really saying something considering Randy knew him when he was young and brutally hungry for control). It would take at least fifteen to get into the area he needed to be—especially by if the bus was running late—and Randy muttered a curse, quickly tugging on boots over his sweatpants and a comfortable jacket over his shirt before heading out the door. He had no time to change his clothes which meant he was going to be showing up to work in an outfit that Hunter would definitely end up commenting on and would work against his favor.

Bus rides this late at night were never pretty and often involved having to distance from drunken idiots and potential petty criminals. Randy could obviously handle himself, he done so before, but making a scene close to a jail where Hunter was waiting wasn't the brightest idea. Just like all other public transports in the city the bus's seats were cracked and old, and the vehicle smelled of cigarette smoke and watered down booze. Normally his heightened senses would be skeeved out from all the negative feedback, but for once he wasn't taking notice of all the annoying details and was instead wondering what exactly the emergency was.

His answer came in the form of arriving to the imposing prison to see a giant hole blown in one of the walls, cement scattered outward into chunks, dangerously embedded around the parameter. Hunter was waiting near the scene, impeccably dressed despite how late it was and hands in pockets, nudging a smaller hunk of rock with his glossed shoe. It was far too odd of an hour for this. 

Desert End Correctional Facility was one of the largest jails this side of the cost. It was placed smack in the middle of the city, a towering multi-floored concrete building that cast a shadow on the streets below and reminded any and all of where a person could easily end up. Randy had nearly been placed in there a few times, his worst encounter being the sliver of days he'd had to wait out some time in a temporary holding cell while lawyers worked out details on a trial. The experience had been nothing short of enlightening. 

Taxes payed for guards that would sooner let criminals rip each other to shreds than do their job and enforce the law. Once a person was inside DECF, they were well and truly on their own, and, considering the variety of criminals that were crammed inside together (from petty theft to men who could literally rip a man's arm off), no person came out the other side the same. Hell, Randy had a scar on his shoulder blade to prove it. The only measures the facility took was to put higher risk persons in better containing units which meant all power-positive people were forced to live around each other in enclosed spaces 24/7.

How had Hunter even been allowed this close to a crime scene? Wait, Randy knew the answer to this one (everyone close enough to the man did): Hunter had “friends” all over the city. No doubt they wouldn't be given any trouble and free reign to do whatever they wanted for a small chunk of time.

Still, being so close to a prison set Randy's nerves on edge, permission to trespass or not. The other man didn't bother turning when Randy reluctantly slunk over, paranoidly glancing around at all the police and jail staff surrounding them. It was obvious he was unnerved but he didn't care, this was not his usual turf and he hated being at a disadvantage.

“What do you think did this?” Hunter straightened, looking up from the rubble pile to the ominously large hole being taped off.

It was two in the God forsaken morning. Randy may have trouble with insomnia but that didn't mean he was always at peak performance for critical sleuthing at all hours of the day. Not like Hunter.

“Explosion?” He guessed. Someone had possibly gotten lucky and gotten out.

Hunter hummed in response which was always annoying. The man never did like to give straight answers when he could milk the dramatic.

“Let me restate: _who_ do you think did this?”

Great. If he was here because of a person it meant Hunter was interested; which meant he was going to have to pretend to be interested too. The inquiry was too broad though and Randy wasn't going to play twenty questions to get the answer.

“Batista coming?”

“He's sleeping.” Hunter dismissively answered—of course he was. The bigger man finally turned to stare at him, revealing nothing with his eyes.

Randy remembered when Hunter was a wild haired, muscle bound beast who pummeled his way through his enemies with the sort of barbarity that a man had to grudgingly admire. These days Triple H was always seen in a tailored suit, shoes shined and hair tied back into a neat ponytail. The new look should have been laughable, but Randy found it made him even more uneasy than confident. Something about the way Hunter held himself back now set both he and his ability on edge, made him wait for the bloodthirsty animal that he knew still lurked inside.

Hunter's eyes flicked up and down his person. 

“You couldn't change?” There was disdain in his voice. Randy could feel his teeth grinding together, itching to elongate.

“Didn't have _time._ ” 

The other man shrugged, acting like it didn't bother him that Randy looked trashy even though they both knew it did and he was definitely in trouble for it. God forbid someone ever found out the Viper showed up at crime scenes in sweats and boots. 

“Only one man got out.” Hunter finally swapped back to whatever was interesting him and had pulled Randy out of the comfort of his home.

Honestly Randy didn't know what the big deal was. Again, there were dangerous individuals in there. Someone broke out at least once a month—it wasn’t their problem to deal with bringing them back in. That was for the WWE and police force to deal with. But he couldn't just answer rudely or he'd find himself taking on shit missions again day after day until he was dead on his feet and running on fumes.

“I'm guessing he isn't one of the usual suspects?” Randy carefully asked.

Hunter gave him some sort of small, amused smile at that. He hated being on the receiving end of those things, he'd much rather be giving them out himself and making others sweat. The smirk was less friendly and more at his own expense, mocking him on being unable to pick up on whatever unsaid information Hunter was holding out of his reach.

“No, Orton.” Hunter glanced back at the building, “The man who escaped was a halfie.”

Randy's lips thinned and it was all he could do to resist looking somewhat hysterical at the coincidence. What, were halfies running around the city and making gangs now? Was he going to find out Goldust himself was the guy who busted out and was crawling around the city like some kind of freak? He crossed his arms to ward off the chill and tilted his head, staring up at the gaping black hole contemplatively. 

“Isn't that the IAC's division?” 

“Not if a halfie commits a crime apparently.” Hunter airily replied, “This guy murdered a representative from an Artificial's senate, Orton. He's a wanted murderer and his limited records say he's from our planet. You know how bad that looks?”

Pretty bad, Randy guessed. He didn't care much for interstellar politics, aliens weren't exactly new news after all and they were just another layer to the crappy cake their system made up. The discovery of the beings had occurred near directly after the early 1920s wave of equal rights for gifted individuals. In his opinion that was why people like him were able to eventually live comfortably while species from other worlds were put under scrutiny and treated so poorly. The world could stop attacking their own kind as much when they had someone else to shift hatred onto. 

Leaders still did try and figure out policies to stop the rampant acts of racism, but there was only so much they could do in so little time with so many new species showing up and introducing themselves day in and day out. It was like Earth had become open season for intergalactic politics once the first wave of aliens popped up on the radar. 

Personally Randy didn't care either way. He'd be hypocritical to hold someone's DNA against them when he'd experienced hate crimes himself as a kid. He didn't exactly care for the Artificials, but that was more because so much about them was still unknown and Randy hated the unknown.

“Any reason we're looking for him?” He cut to the chase, sick of beating around the bush.

“I think...” Hunter delicately began, “someone of this man's...talents. Could be of use to the Authority.”

And there it was. That was the stupidest thing Randy had ever heard—taking in a wanted criminal who was known for murdering off-planet leaders would get them arrested so fast his head would spin. There would be no way to fully wipe records of what the man did, not with witnesses and possible individuals unwilling to be paid off.

“Hunter—” He began but the other man cut him off.

“The guy he killed wasn't loved, Orton. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that if spun correctly, our man could be a hero instead of a rotten criminal. If he had the correct support, that is.”

“What, we're getting involved with politics now? We're a _business,_ Hunter. Not running for president!” His voice had dropped to a dangerous growl now, poison pooling in the back of his mouth and leaking down his throat. 

Hunter shot him a warning look at the clear insubordination, “Yes, we are a business. And as the man in charge of this business, _I decide_ what's best. We've needed a boost in power for some time now. Easing into the political forefront is the best possible way to do so.”

“If you take in a guy like that you won't be easing in, you'll be taking that sledgehammer of yours and forcing your way in.”

“I have this under control.” Hunter appeared frustratingly unbothered, “What I need you to do is take your little Scooby gang and find him for me.”

So that was why Hunter wanted him to come. Of course. He needed Randy to play the hound and use his own resources to, once again, benefit himself. Randy had half a mind to punch the older man in the jaw if it wouldn't have landed him in the very jail they were standing before. He clenched his hands into fists so tight he wouldn't be surprised if his nails had cut through skin and they were bleeding.

“Am I gonna get any info or do I have to figure it all out myself?” Hunter looked like he had half a mind to do pretty much that.

“We have articles of his clothing and belongings and we're getting the details on his life as we speak.” Of course he was, because Randy couldn't exactly tell him no and Hunter was always prepared, “As of right now we only know the alias he and others have been referring to him as: Finn Balor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: maybe Stardust will get to do something with his life.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this chapter really did not want to be written, so it may be tough to read. Hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> If you ever want to talk you can hit me up on my tumblr: http://starcussed.tumblr.com

Over a month had passed on the jailbreak case before the WWE finally caught whiff of a lead. 

The series of events that led to the discovery was surrounded by strange circumstances--while every person in the prison had referred to the escaped convict as Finn Balor, there had been no records of a man named as such outside of a single birth certificate. The man must have been working somewhere given that his clothes were fairly nice but there was no application admitted to any organization or business that involved his name. It was as though Finn Balor had ceased to exist after his creation and the world was beginning to whip itself into a tizzy trying to find information.

News stations were having a field day reporting rumor after rumor, each crumb of gossip more insane and implausible than the last. The average amount of time it normally took the WWE to find escaped convicts and readmit them was apparently around a week. Four weeks was mind boggling to people as the last instance of such unprecedented failure was decades ago. 

Stardust had thought they were never actually going to be able to find the prisoner and had taken to avoiding the more frustrated members that wandered the halls. He wasn’t personally invested in the case and found it uninteresting in the grand scheme of things. Luckily, there was no one stepping up to ask him to help research the subject which gave him ample time to do his own investigating of more personal matters. If anyone had noticed that he kept to his room outside of training they didn’t mention, attention too concentrated on either current crimes or the grand mystery of Finn Balor. 

For a small chunk of time Stardust knew he had virtually disappeared, forgotten in wake of the stagnating case. The fact didn’t worry him; he had, after all, not been particularly liked for the few months that he’d first arrived at the WWE to try and join. People tended to either hate him or ignore him on the best of days and so he was used to the isolation and only being called on when something was needed from him. The few instances he ever broke the pattern was when he was seeking attention, and then that was punctuated by his loud presence and forced other people to meet his demands or, at the very least, interact with him. 

Given that he had been under the impression that the case was never going to be budged, he was surprised when the big break came in the form of a tattooed man arriving at the imposing front doors to their building. Stardust hadn’t overheard the conversation, had barely seen much of anything besides short cropped brown hair and a crooked, clever smile, and so had thought nothing of it. People came and went from the WWE regularly. The man could have very well been someone looking to join or a representative of some sort of political council. Honestly, given the amount of false tips they’d received on Balor’s disappearance, he could’ve been just another person looking for fifteen minutes of fame.

It turned out that had not been the case in the slightest and barely a day later he found himself being towed along for a meeting with the stranger. 

Personally when Stardust had finally been elevated to “professional hero” status he’d expected that he'd do something exciting. like fighting masked villains or rescuing a flaming bus full of children. In his daydreams he was always super strong and could cover buildings in a single leap. There was also usually a pretty woman to swoon when he inevitably posed and said something cool like...well, that part didn't matter. He could never really recall what exactly was exchanged during his fantasies but he _knew_ that if it occurred in real life snappy one liners would come fluidly.

The problem was that his first official assignment for the WWE wasn’t a punching kind of thing but a talking kind of thing.

“We clear on the plan?”

Stardust nodded his head enthusiastically for the third time, lips curled with annoyance. Beside him Roman was less contained and was, predictably at this point, breathing hard like an enraged bull. A good chunk of these people seemed to struggle with debilitating anger issues; their funds needed to be poured into areas more useful, such as a therapy.

“ _Yes_ —we were clear the first time.” He growled.

Apparently Reigns didn't like being ordered around if the last forty minutes spent wandering around the southern part of the city with the two bickering nonstop was any indication. It had been one sided generally, John handing out disapproving stares and passive aggressive attempts to guilt Roman into shutting up and Roman reacting accordingly. The situation had been uncomfortably awkward and was not something Stardust looked forward to dealing with for several more hours. It didn't technically matter what he wanted, of course; he had been dragged along behind them and treated like a child—a fact that he was incredibly frustrated with but unwilling to argue about on the off chance it gave the men new drive to take everything out on each other.

Given that on top of everything John had only seemed to bring him along because he was the single available person besides Roman that wasn’t involved in some other case (or didn’t want to have to face the media afterwards)...well, it was shaping up to be an unsatisfying afternoon.

Cena seemed unperturbed by the hulking man's ire and kept his eyes on the alley before them. It was dirty, cramped, and located smack in the middle of the city's version of a Chinatown. Personally Stardust was enthralled by how colorful the southern sector was and wished they could wander around the areas that weren't damp with mildew and smelled like garbage, but apparently this was a part of being a protector: being forced to rummage around in unclean environments. Cena and Roman seemed less starstruck by their surroundings and more wary, as though they expected to be jumped at any second.

Maybe that was a prime possibility. Did supervillains tend to make a habit of following heroes around and stalking their every move? Did they gather every bit of information they could on their enemies and spend hours pouring over it, theorizing? Was anyone really so _committed_ that protectors had to fear being jumped in an alley beside a run down, family owned noodle shop? Stardust grimaced at the thought—at least he had nothing to worry about. Being the utterly new member that he was, he hadn’t had any time to cultivate a rivalry with their numerous enemies.

People milled around, going about their days and somehow failing to notice the trio. Stardust wondered if he blended in with the surroundings that well or if oddly attired folk suspiciously hanging around noodle shops were normal. He had been forced to wear something more “casual”--which had meant he'd been shoved into some of John's spare clothes (a bright green t-shirt far too large that reached his crotch, and a pair of shorts that were somehow big enough to hang mid calf despite the few inches he had on the man). The paint remained though, they couldn't convince him out of that. It clashed awfully with the other hero's fashion sense but then Stardust reasoned everything clashed with Cena's wardrobe choice.

Cena himself had pulled some gaudy looking cap on and a giant pair of sunglasses as though to somehow shield his face from the public eye by using the most attention grabbing colors. Roman seemed to be going for casual beach enthusiast stuck in the city, his hair tied into a bun and wearing a simple tank and shorts. Given that his actual face was known to the mass public he'd assumed Reigns would put more effort into some sort of subtle disguise, but apparently people were less observant than he’d assumed. All in all Stardust concluded they actually stuck out more by trying to tone down.

“The man is a wanted murderer and the guy we’re talking to, honestly, is even worse.” Cena sternly said, turning his head slightly to stare with intent up at Roman, “I don't want to take any risks. So all we're going to do is go in, ask questions, and leave. I need to know that you won't lose your temper.”

Roman's face twisted into a sneer and Stardust thought it was certainly too late to order him to control his emotions now. John glanced towards him next, took in his own eager, absent smile and mismatched clothing, and barely resisted turning away again. His eyes spoke volumes about how distressed he was by Stardust’s presence alone. Why Cena was having trouble speaking was questionable but some people could be so _strange._

“And you're clear on everything?” He questioned, hand held out as though he were trying to ward Stardust off.

“Go inside the ominous alleyway,” Stardust wiggled his fingers for emphasis and Roman shuffled a step away, “don't get mutilated by any ambitious passerby, find this... _secret sanctuary_ and interrogate the occupants within on our escaped convict without initiating an altercation.”

It took a moment for Cena to catch up but once he did he clicked his dropped jaw shut and nodded approvingly. It wasn't the most difficult layout to memorize, but then apparently there may be merit behind being so paranoid if this stranger could make John feel nervous. Stardust was unused to having someone actually care about his personal safety outside his brother. The feeling was as much perplexing as it was welcome, painfully reminding him of how greedy he was for social interactions that didn't involve mocking him.

“Alright, if we're clear let's go. We're gonna get to em' by dinner at this rate.” Roman grunted and brushed past, stalking down the alleyway with intent. 

Cena failed to hide an aggravated sigh as he followed, stocky body tensed up from the standoff and quite possibly what they were about to put themselves through. Stardust was taking it all in stride, refusing to be brought down by his partners. In his mind he was envisioning this to be an enlightening trip, something that taught him more life lessons than he originally expected and would ultimately prove to be beneficial. 

Where the city was bustling and painted by vibrant neon lights, the back alleys were too quiet and still. There was a murky light that passed through narrow openings and gave the darkened passages a feeling of either being so deep underwater that a person would never resurface, or a heaviness that made each step deeper seem like they were entering a void. He’d expected to see trash dumped by diners but instead realized quickly that the heaps scattered throughout the maze were things leftover, forgotten by other people and dropped behind to gather dirt and rot. 

It was depressing, a makeshift graveyard that closed in on every heartbeat, and Stardust soon found himself concentrating less on staying optimistic and more on trying not to flinch and shudder at every small noise amplified by the near suffocating silence. He was so fixated on his building nerves that he completely missed the other two men stopping and bumped into Cena’s back, a small, audible gust of air exiting his lungs on the impact. John looked over his shoulder in confusion and minor agitation though checked to make sure he was on his feet and unharmed.

“Where are we?” He brushed off Cena’s attempts to right him and looked around with wide eyes.

They had stopped before a building that Stardust knew if he were alone he’d miss. It was huddled between the backs of two other towering apartments, crammed in like an afterthought. The bricks slanted outward at an angle, giving the impression that somehow everything had pressed closer and slowly begun to warp the architecture accordingly. There was no light coming from within, but then all the windows were boarded up heavily and he couldn’t even tell if it was dark inside. Roman waited to the side of cracked and sloped front steps, remaining quiet with his arms crossed and expression hardened.

It was John who had to answer as he took all three steps at once and planted himself before the aging front door.

“This place is…” Cena struggled to find the words, avoiding knocking on the metal to lift his hat with one hand and run the other through his hair, “A secret, mostly. Only certain people know about it if they have the right connections.”

Stardust’s brows scrunched in thought but he didn’t question further. Did this mean that it was wrong of them to be arriving? Wouldn’t this imply it wasn’t a zone that the law was able to reach?

He avidly watched the door while Cena knocked, the man shifting his weight to a painfully forced-casual pose. The build up to this ordeal made the interval feel endless and had Stardust antsy, wanting to glance around himself paranoidly in case someone actually did get the drop on them for whatever reason. It seemed the entire world had gone quiet in those few moments, waiting with bated breath to reveal what was in store behind the strange entrance in the unsettling back alley jungle.

A small window on the door slid opened when John lifted his hand to knock again after being prompted by Roman’s impatient glances. Two suspicious eyes peered outside and then the latch was clicked shut, several locks audibly being unlatched from the inside before the door was cracked for them. 

This time Roman allowed Cena to take the lead, and Stardust followed with a less than zealous gait. He felt as though he were walking into the belly of the beast and held his hands protectively to his chest. The person who awaited them on the other side wasn’t the stranger from before but a ginger haired woman, hair so carrot orange that Stardust wondered if she’d dyed it. There were various odd gadgets on her person that he couldn’t make heads or tails of in terms of use. She watched them with as much wariness as they did her, hands on hips and head cocked to the side in observation.

“Right.” She began, “Follow me, boys.”

The woman had some sort of accent though it was so thick and she had spoken so fast that he struggled to place it. Irish?

The trek through the first few rooms revealed nothing. In fact, the inside of the building seemed for all the world like an average, dilapidated living space. There was no way that anyone could live in such circumstances no matter how desperate they were from the way that grime coated the walls and floors, and the furniture looked more like trash piles than the things he’d seen outside. At the end of the short hallway and to the left the woman pulled out a set of keys, unlocking a heavy door and pushing it firmly.

It would seem that they were stepping into Minos’s labyrinth with the way the exploration never seemed to end. He was lead down a set of steep concrete stairs and that was when he finally realized what was hiding beneath the structure. They were settled at a completely different entrance, this one leading to yet another door that had been left propped open. The underground hallway was lit poorly by two hanging lamps that had lived better days and the walls were coated with spray painted symbols, words, and drawings. Despite being in an even more enclosed space, Stardust somehow felt more at ease by all the color and took time to crane his neck and look around eagerly.

Roman gripped the crook of his arm with a put upon huff, hauling him along behind him as the group continued to move. While it was disappointing to leave the enchanting images he was quickly distracted again by the large room they entered. How the ceiling could reach the height it was without breaking through the crust of the city streets was questionable; as was how no one apparently knew about this strange, large construction beneath. 

It looked like an arena that had once been abandoned and then cobbled into something more liveable, complete with a worn down ring in the center. There were several other sets of doors cluing him in that as big as this one room was, there were more. 

He must have looked impressed because the ginger haired woman puffed up with pride, preening at his non-verbal awe as he took in everything. 

“About time!” Someone spoke to their right and jolted Stardust out of his daze, “I was beginning to think you guys weren’t gonna show up.”

The man from before stepped into the light, hands splayed outward in a show of over exaggerated greeting. Unlike the previous day, he was clothed in sportswear and had his hands and wrists bandaged, x’s scribbled onto the off white cloth. Despite his smaller stature Stardust felt himself growing more cautious again. He gave off the vibe of not just a leader, but an incredibly dangerous one.

“You said three.” Cena argued, the words low and defensive.

The man smiled lazily, arms dropping to his sides and tucking themselves into pockets, “It’s three-o-five. I thought you liked to follow the rules?”

Stardust chanced a peek up at Roman and the larger man didn’t look threatened but annoyed, like he’d heard this same conversation dozens of times. The fact that Reigns wasn’t bothered by this stranger made him all the more uneasy.

Especially so when his gaze slid back to the scene and found the man staring directly at him with interest. He barely had time to jolt in surprise before the stranger took a few steps forward and circled him, clicking his tongue the entire time and acting like he was upraising something to purchase rather than another person. Stardust automatically felt his expression contort to a sneer and let loose a warning hiss when the man decided to venture a little too close for comfort.

“Woah!” He backed off with a short chuckle, “Where do you find these guys, John? The circus?”

Stardust bristled further but was stopped from advancing by Roman’s heavy hand on his shoulder, keeping him anchored in place. The man watched the ordeal in amusement, eyes flicking up and down their person and taking in their appearances. Too late he noticed a third stranger positioned behind the leader, a muscled but rotund man whose softer features were rendered cruelly by the the aura he was giving off. He had almost begun a full on fight without thinking (just like a _newbie_ would) and the idea bothered him. Cena had moved to intercept and looked just as unhappy about how everything was playing out.

“Punk.” He started.

“That’s CM to you.” Punk smartly responded, cheeky smile alight on his face. 

“Punk.” Cena tried again, barreling on when it looked like the smaller man was going to interrupt, “You said you had information you could give. We’re here, so let’s cut to the chase.”

Punk paused and eyed Cena thoughtfully. Whatever conclusion he reached must have been good enough because he nodded lightly and finally turned away to pace in a different direction. The girl shifted more into Stardust’s peripheral vision while the boy stood at the ready. This man, Punk, was unsafe to have around if he could command an entire group’s attention and keep it without question.

“Cut to the chase.” Punk parroted and brought his hands up into a prayer-like position beneath his chin, “You’re right, John. Let’s get to business.”

Apparently Cena hadn’t expected him to react as such and floundered for a second while Punk stared over his shoulder at him, eyes unreadable. The girl was looking between them with a satisfied expression and had the attentive posture of someone who was settling in for a good show. Somewhere in the building a door slammed shut and Stardust had to resist jumping once more. Everything in here had him on edge and was making the back of his neck prickle. 

There was something wrong, he just couldn’t place it.

“You’re actually going to talk without a fight?” John suspiciously asked. Punk rolled his eyes and scoffed, spinning on his heel to face them fully again.

“Can’t a guy do something nice without everyone questioning his motives?” 

“Not when it comes to you.” And Punk stilled completely and suddenly, a flicker of anger passing over his face.

“Of course not.” He muttered, “You would know all about that, boy scout.”

Roman awkwardly shifted beside him and Stardust glanced curiously up at him and then at Cena. The stockier man’s cheeks flared a ruddy shade of red before he visibly collected himself and cleared his throat, striving to regain control of the conversation.

“You know who Finn Balor is?”

“Maybe.” Punk answered, deliberately transitioning from a hooded stance to the satisfied cat holding all the cards, “It’s gonna cost you though. Cause’, y’know, like you said. I can’t do anything for free.”

“What do you want?” Roman interjected, visibly exasperated and running on low patience.

“That,” Punk began, “is undecided yet. Let’s just say your people will owe me and my people a favor that we can call in at any time.”

“You know we can’t promise that.” Cena reached up again to lift his cap and card a hand through his hair.

The man in the background let loose a bark of laughter at his struggle and no one moved to reprimand him for the action.

“Seriously? What, you think I’m gonna make you _punch children_ or something?” Punk’s stance tightened again and that momentary spark flashed in his eyes once more, “I _do_ have standards despite what you seem to think.”

The altercation was heating up to levels of discomfort that were well past the earlier arguments had between their group. Both men seemed to know each other, though how was questionable. From the way they lashed out personal insults it almost seemed like they had been at the very least friends that drifted apart due to whatever circumstances. The dawning information didn’t explain why CM Punk was living with a group of people underneath the city, but it did explain why exactly Cena carted them out into shady territory without explaining why.

Reigns interjected for a second time before John could get the words out to continue his debate, moving himself away from Stardust to stand between the two men and act as a buffer. 

“Deal. Just tell us what you know about this guy.”

“You don’t get to tell us what to do.” The second man finally stepped up and close enough to the trio to prove he wasn’t put off in the slightest by the mass Reigns had on him. Stardust shuffled forward as well at the same time the girl did, both parties tensed and posturing for a melee.

Punk regarded the bigger man critically and then it was like all the fight had left him, taking the strained atmosphere with it. The man shuffled back a few steps to plop down in one of the metal chairs placed around the ring and rested his head tiredly in his hands. Whatever image of evil mastermind he had been conjuring up was gone in a split second and left the man looking completely drained. 

“Relax, Owens.” He commanded, ignoring the sour look Owens gave.

“I know the kid. We call him Devitt around here; everyone likes him.” Punk mumbled around his hand, “You’re looking for the wrong guy though.”

“You _know_ him?” Cena sounded more than a little outraged at the confession, “Why didn’t you contact anyone earlier?!”

“Because of _this!_ ” Punk raised his voice right back and gestured to the group, “I knew as soon as you guys found out I wouldn’t be able to get a word in and you wouldn’t help me!”

“Help?” Stardust chirped in the brief pause and then all attention was on him, “Help...why would you need our help?”

“That’s a _good question._ ” Owens tightly responded, eyes narrowed and locked on Punk’s form, “I thought we agreed he was guilty?”

“I think he’s been framed.” 

Heavy silence followed as all members of the party processed the new angle. 

“ _What?_ ” Owens sounded irate.

Well Stardust hadn’t been expecting that and neither had the other two from the looks of it. He turned a slow circle in place while he thought, ignoring the odd stare the girl gave him. Why exactly would Balor have been framed for murder? And why was Punk so adamant about defending him that he’d lie to his own people until necessary? Scratch that, why would anyone have reason to frame some boy who was nearly impossible to find and had a clean record? The connections weren’t adding up and it was giving him a headache. This was why he hated doing the research bits to things that didn’t involve his own life, he would find himself caught up in the mystery and waste his time without even realizing.

Stardust grunted in aggravation and patted at his forehead forcibly to try jogging his ideas loose. There was still something off about the whole situation and it was distracting him from following the map in his head.

“By who?” Roman asked the most pressing question and Punk gave him a hopeless smile in return, flopping back into his chair.

“I don’t know.” He shook his head despairingly, “I wish I knew. But Devitt wasn’t like that. He had a temper sometimes but he would never murder someone, especially some _artificial_ politician.”

“You sure about that?” Cena pressed.

“Yeah.” The piercing stare that Punk delivered was something Stardust was glad he wasn’t on the receiving end of, “I’m positive.”

“Well I’m not!” Owens snapped, turning on his leader furiously. Punk opened his mouth to retort, brows furrowed in confusion and exasperation, and then the girl cut through whatever argument had been about to occur. 

“Trouble.”

The woman’s head snapped up like a bloodhound picking up a scent, so quickly and suddenly that it had Stardust immediately reflexively whirling around to face the entrance and the other men doing the same. Punk slowly stood from his chair, keeping his attention divided between the door and his companion while he inched towards her. There was no sound aside from all of them breathing and the distant noises of the city up above but the girl was right, something was wrong.

Wrong--what was wrong? He’d known this from the beginning, but the wrongness wasn’t just trapped outside, was it?

“What is it, Becky?” Punk gently asked, refraining from touching the woman as she concentrated on whatever it was that she was picking up on. 

It occurred to Stardust that the group was probably gifted and it made his skin crawl to know that Cena had brought them into the proverbial lion’s den. Without being able to say for certain how many others were in the building on top of the clear vibes they were all sensing, the situation could have gone south at any second. Was going south.

"Company." Becky kept her sentences short and clipped, all business with a struggle on the horizon.

Roman’s eyes were tracing the ceiling as though he were trying to see through it and Stardust turned his gaze upwards. It took a second of fully concentrating before he picked up what the bigger man was locked onto. There were faint footsteps above--someone was walking around in the house and with the way Punk was acting they weren’t supposed to be there. They were all staring up now, all of them save for Owens who was looking into the distance like he was comprehending something completely different. 

“ _Tell me_ you guys didn’t have a tail.” Punk whispered.

"Of course not!" Cena loudly whispered right back, "How many times have I done this now?"

" _Yeah_ well--"

The world abruptly rendered itself twofold and pushed the argument to the side, a blazing semitransparent timeline layering itself over the present. In real time everyone was frozen, watching the door with bated breath. Stardust seized up, eyes flicking back and forth and following the series of events that were going to occur. Fighting, pain, betrayal--he had been right, something was wrong and they were all in danger.

All of them except Owens.

Too late Stardust inhaled to warn the others, potential outcomes still swimming across his mind’s eye and making everything so _difficult_ to concentrate on. He could see Owens smirking in satisfaction in the background of the glaring red vision, though whether or not that was occurring at the present moment or a few seconds later in the future didn’t matter.

Right as the door caved in with one solid hit, metal screeching from the force of the sole fist that was burrowed into it, Stardust let loose an outraged yelp and threw himself at Owens. His eyesight cleared enough to witness the look of surprise on the heavier man’s face when he impacted with his chest and knocked him to the ground. There was an awful, blaring sound that reached such high pitches that Stardust wondered if his ears were bleeding, but there was no time to cover his ears and protect them. 

If Owens managed to get the drop on Cena like he had been about to do they were all going to be in so much worse trouble.

Stardust jammed a hand into the man’s pocket while he was howling in pain from the supersonic waves, prickles of red gathering at the inside of his ears. In the future Owens was going to withdraw a hidden weapon and stab John cleanly between two ribs. The wound would render the man incapable of fighting full force and would cause the quick subsequent annihilation of either Becky or Roman. His trembling fingers finally closed around the blade of a dagger and he yanked it out, hurriedly shifted it to grasp by the blade and ignored stinging cuts formed on his digits. 

“What the hell--” A knife held to the throat cut Owens off.

“Hey.” Stardust’s voice came out as a strangled whisper first, and he cleared his throat, “ _Hey!_ ”

The trio of people that had entered the room as well as the remaining members of the group looked over and it was hopefully enough to prevent Cena's injury from occurring. It was Punk who caught on first, predictably furious once he realized one of his people were pinned by someone he thought he could at the very least strike a deal with.

“No!” Stardust yelped and pressed the blade hard enough to draw a thin slice of blood, “You stay where you are and listen-- _listen!_ ”

“Yeah, right.” The intruding woman scoffed. He had seen her before--he’d seen all three of them before from the bank incident weeks ago, “Go ahead. Kill him.”

“ _What?!_ ” Owens raged, demeanor darkening, “You can’t do that! Tri--”

“Triple H says a lot of things.” The woman flippantly replied, “You’ve obviously been compromised and we can't take people who lose this fast.”

“Compromised?” Punk repeated, slow dawning realization painful to behold.

“He told them about you!” Stardust blurted, free hand digging bruises onto Owens shoulder, “About _us!_ ”

“It doesn't matter.” A new voice finally piped up. It was deep and inexplicably dangerous and for a moment Stardust didn’t want to look and see who it came from, “This is an unexpected but...pleasant surprise.”

“ _Viper._ ” Becky breathed and her hands clamped down on objects haltered to either thigh.

It was him--the man he’d fought with and who’d nearly taken his head off with a fire hydrant. Though the lights in the underground arena were dimmer than those outside, there was no mistaking the pattern of tough scales on his arms, nor the sharp eyes behind his hooded mask. Eyes that were definitely locked onto him for unknown reasons. 

The hair on his arms and the back of his neck prickled warningly and Stardust held his breath.

“Watch it!” The woman--Britani?--yelled, shoving the Viper to the side and absorbing the full impact of Roman’s body suddenly slamming into hers. She only skidded an inch back, booted feet digging into the floor and gathering enough power to push the bigger man back. Roman caught his balance but didn't move to attack again, wary of the woman's power.

Just like that the world cranked back into focus and Becky had what appeared to be a small robot poised to fight at her feet and an odd looking gun pointed at the third man’s--Dallas?--head while Roman and Britani stared each other down. Punk was still visibly thrown off by the admittance of betrayal, reluctant to accept what was before him but equally as unwilling to be bested in a time of vulnerability. There was no other movement as every person sized each other up, wary of all besides immediate allies. 

“Kevin, what are you doing?” Punk ground out.

“What am _I_ doing?” Owens sounded disbelieving, “Are you serious? Do you even realize how badly you treated me? How _disrespectful_ you were?”

Punk didn’t answer though his expression spoke volumes of his confusion and frustration. Owens barked out another short laugh, pointed and accusing.

“You really can’t think of anything? Typical.” Kevin seemed to lose himself in thought for a moment before he pulled himself out of whatever dark memories were distracting him, “Oh, _Devitt._ What a hero in the making, what a champ! Nevermind that he's some backwoods _hybrid._ ”

Owen’s voice was an accusing hiss, “Who _cares_ about him? He’s a halfie and a murderer and you still can’t help but _defend_ everything he does!”

Jealousy, incredibly toxic and unattractive, mixed with prejudice. Stardust knew how that felt and seeing it practically dripping off of the smaller man painted his own secretive inner demons viciously in his mind. Kevin didn’t seem to care that he was back down on the cold floor, held in place by a knife to his neck. He was enraged and pressed into the weapon as he raised his head at every punctuation in his sentences, threads of blood curling down his gullet to the floor.

“You do this and you’ll have good as quit the NXT.” Becky’s voice slid through the staring contest Punk and Owens had.

Kevin’s expression crumpled into a cross between sorrow and pure vitriolic anger.

“You just don’t get it. You think I _care_ about this crappy second rate joint?” Kevin glanced at the Viper, resolve steeled, “Do it.”

Stardust’s stomach dropped--they-- _he_ \--had missed something. Again.

Without warning a fourth person rocketed out of the darkness of the doorway and into Punk. There was a squelching sound that he could distantly place as a meatbag being torn into, and then Punk was coughing and staring in shock down at his gut where the final man from the bank heist (Lunatic...?) had buried his hand. Far too much blood was quickly staining the surrounding area red and the coppery stench that followed was nauseating. 

“ _No!_ ” Cena roared and lashed out with his metallic arm, catching the man in the side and sending him falling head over heels. 

Punk crumpled, caught only by Becky who was viciously shooting at Dallas to prevent him from letting loose another sonic screech. Roman was grappling with the Britani girl, losing ground with every second she pumped up her amplified strength. It was loud in the large room, sound ricocheting off of the walls and making Stardust’s ears ring. Oddly enough he could hear himself breathe and his heart pound from the adrenaline coursing through his body.

Sluggishly he moved his head from observing Punk shakily pressing his hands to his open wound to stare down at Owens, movements heavy and weighed down by another burst of bright light in his eyes. As soon as the vision hit he stiffened like he’d been electrocuted and the information readout _hurt_ as it danced across his brain. 

Everything was so very wrong.

Buzzed hair, tired brow, a wide, sad mouth. No, now _pain_ and panic and punching. But there was also running--to the exit? Back door. There was a back door. He had less than a second before he was going to be attacked. Anyone could do it, everyone was going to do it, this person was going to do it more. Pale eyes, scared eyes, _furious_ eyes. But then, _but then_ \--but then that meant--

A clawed hand clamped down on Stardust’s arm and yanked him upright. He didn’t bother to fight it and allowed himself to be slipped off of Owens, turned around to gaze up at the Viper’s triumphant and then puzzled expression. He knew his eyes must be blown wide, pupils dilated and expression slack. It caught the other man off guard enough to falter, unsure of what to make of his strange, fiery gaze and absent body language for a split second.

It was all he needed. 

The knife was plunged without ceremony into the man’s closest arm, and with a snarl the Viper both pushed him back and swiped at him. The claws cut through Cena’s shirt and shredded his skin like butter but Stardust couldn’t find it in him to care. He was smiling--he must be smiling now. 

“ _Oh._ ” He breathed, “He’s here.”

The Viper was a hair away from jamming his claws directly into his chest but shorted just before he could touch cloth. Despite the chaos around them, the loud sounds of every yell or hit so overpowering it was almost too much, Stardust found himself blinking back to reality without being pummeled to the floor. The other man’s hand was still poised to harm, the tips of his claws just barely skittering along his ruined shirt and aggravating wounded skin beneath.

“...How did you know that?” The Viper quietly asked.

Stardust wilted back from the intensity of the other man’s gaze, still trying to catch up to the present and sorting jumbled futures away for further analysis. He fumbled with an excuse; anything to throw the man off from what he could do. 

“I--” He started, uncharacteristically at a loss for words.

The Viper's expression pinched in sudden disapproving rage and that was the only warning Stardust got before what felt like a brick slammed into the side of his head. His knees buckled and as the world blacked out, he wondered if Finn Balor had gotten out safely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: the mystery goes deeper.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter didn't want to be written but between finals and work somehow I managed to get it done! Things are progressing pretty slowly but I'm hoping for the pace to pick up soon.

The search for Finn Balor had taken weeks. 

It wasn’t often that Randy was handed a task that involved more than a few days of leg work, but it was like the man didn’t exist outside of basic birthing records. He’d dealt with difficult to locate people before (ranging from mercenaries to actual aliens) and everything about the situation had screamed cover up and multiple identities. Unfortunately if Finn Balor was going by another name there was nothing to indicate where he should begin looking and so it stuck him at a dead end. The few contacts he’d used to have in his major crime spree days were M.I.A. as well given that he’d been forced to relinquish them all once he’d become a major part of the Authority--they didn’t like their inner circle, after all, to have their own motivations and connections to get things done. 

As tempting as it was to take the problem then to Hunter and blow up at him for tasking him with an assignment that seemed virtually impossible with the useless bits of information he’d been given, he didn’t need the man more involved than he already was. Having Hunter hang around and look over his shoulder at every single thing he did was something he left behind the day he decided to become more of a solo artist than stay with old group. The man wouldn’t let him hear the end of the smallest mistakes and Randy knew he’d definitely snap if he had to sit through more than a few minutes.

The only other option they were left with, outside of trying to follow a very thin paper trail that led nowhere, was to have Dean try and track him by scent. When it came to close combat hunting--finding any enemy attempting to hide and get the jump on them--Randy had the advantage. More long distance situations were Ambrose’s specialty. As much as the man complained loudly about how unfair it was that he had to inhale the scent left behind on the clothes Balor had arrived in at the prison, he had done so. More than likely it was to one up all of them and show how reliant they were on his abilities, but the attempt had concluded with yet another dead end when Dean couldn’t track further than the original building that Balor had been arrested in.

It was a fairly nondescript office which was more than likely why an alien politician had chosen to conduct business within it. Actual access to the inside was still off limits which meant that the only thing it was probably used for was under the table deals and hidden meetings. Further investigation hadn’t even revealed a location the convict could be squatting at which, if Randy was being honest with himself, wasn’t a surprise. Real life was nothing like all the television shows where a convenient clue was left behind that pointed to exact hiding spots.

Trapped with a case that seemed like it was going nowhere and a squad that was beginning to grow impatient with the lack of action outside of feeble detective work, he’d been unable to even look into the Goldust mystery more. Whatever feeble attempt at a life he’d had outside of work was wiped away the longer the stalemate held out. The idea of setting everything aside for an afternoon and allowing himself to try scrounging up more information was tantalizing, but the second he paused on working what Hunter deemed priority he knew he’d be brought up to the man’s office and laid into. 

Around the time that Randy had been developing a headache over the consistent lack of progress, ceasing to sleep and lashing out at his team more often than he should, they’d run into none other than a member of Punk’s flock: Owens. 

The man had gone out of his way to try and find members of the Authority, especially ones higher up on the foodchain, and had presented a deal: Finn Balor for a spot in Hunter’s group. He’d painted a pretty picture of resentment with his sulky attitude and years of having to deal with Balor’s supposed special treatment. CM Punk was hiding the fugitive according to Owens and if they could just set up some sort of an elaborate scheme to catch the NXT off guard, they’d be home free. 

It had seemed too good to be true--and predictably, it was. 

No matter how tough the Canadian made himself out to be he was, frankly, shit at planning and it had resulted in a mess of a fight that none of them had been prepared for. The WWE weren’t supposed to be there when they arrived, but Owens had apparently been too caught up in his own motivations to realize that Punk had reached out a hand as well. There had been no way to quickly shift plans and find a path to Balor without anyone noticing, not with how closed up and difficult to find the NXT base was. They’d managed a few good hits on their enemies--especially when it came to Punk--but the end result was still unsatisfactory enough to result in nothing but frustration.

Despite this, the one question that bounced around in Randy’s head as he dragged his group back towards base, arm throbbing in pain, was not where Finn Balor was (because if the man had been hidden in the building he was surely gone now) but what exactly _Stardust_ could do. They had lost their only solid lead on the Balor case and the newbie was definitely to blame. Even if he had nothing to do with the Goldust case, he was still becoming something of a problem since his record with creating trouble thus far was 2-0.

“I don’t understand.” Kevin was throwing some sort of temper tantrum, ranting to uncaring ears, “That should’ve worked perfectly!”

“Will you just _shut up_ already?” Paige huffed, gingerly favoring her left leg more.

Their pride was wounded more than their actual bodies, but somehow that was worse. Once again they’d been forced to beat a retreat because of Cena and his band of misfits, and it was infuriating to think that Randy himself had been caught off guard by the same person. The very person who Owens nearly killed.

“Maybe if you people had actually pulled your weight instead of standing around we wouldn’t be dragging our sorry asses back to base!” Kevin hissed in return to Paige, invading her space as the doors to the basement of HQ slid open.

The first thing Randy did once his rag tag group crowded inside was to grab Owens by the scruff of his shirt and slam him into the nearest cement wall. His injured arm was shoved into the shorter man's chest, pinning him in place. Blood was leaking and staining the black cloth a sticky shade of red but Randy didn't care; nor did he care about the waves of pain washing over him from using his wounded limb—his mounting anger was tuning all else out. 

“Randy, _don't._ ” Paige, hair wild and sporting a smattering of bruises that were vivid against her pale skin, was on them in a second and she ignored the guttural noise he directed at her for the interference.

Bo and Dean watched from the side, either smart enough not to interfere or uninterested. It was probably more the latter given how nastily Bo had been side eyeing Kevin throughout the entire trip. Normally the room they were gathered in was used as a training grounds of sorts, as well as an area to both plan and execute ideas. There were a few stragglers using equipment but one look at the group had them hesitantly glancing towards the closest exit. 

“ _Leave._ ” Randy snarled; a second later the room was vacated, no one stupid enough to hang behind and test their luck. 

The only sound that followed for a brief moment was his own strained breathing as he struggled to control his temper and reign in the urge to pop Kevin’s head off. 

“I thought you didn't care if he died.” Dean broke the silence and Paige rounded on him furiously, jamming a finger into his chest and sending him stumbling back a step. The movement echoed in the virtually empty space, a clatter of footsteps and building bad moods.

“That was a bluff and you know it.” She spat.

“Guys, let's just take a deep breath and remember those _calming exercises_ —” Bo started, somehow willing to step between the two. The action resulted in the man being shoved back and forth between Paige and Dean who were trying to find a way around their teammate. 

“Really? Was pretty convincing to me; made me think after a month of _my hard work_ tracking that freak down you were going to blow it!”

“ _Your_ hard work? What exactly did you do besides smell a pair of dirty underwear and then fail to locate him?”

“Fighting isn't going to solve anything, we've talked about this—”

“What the fuck did you just—”

“ _Enough!_ ” Randy roared and abruptly all arguing cut off.

His blood was throbbing beneath his skin, power so intense and aching for release that he wondered if the change had retaken his features. It wouldn't help anything to lose his temper completely and murder a new addition to the Authority in a fit, but it was tempting. Randy snapped his eyes shut and squeezed them hard enough to see bursts of color behind his lids, the vivid splotches a good distraction from how badly his nails were itching to dig into flesh. There was a prodding feeling in the back of his skull, burrowing deeper and deeper, and it made everything damn near impossible to concentrate on. When it seemed plausible to speak he exhaled lowly and reopened his eyes to lock onto Owens face.

To the man's credit he wasn't exuding a fearful aura like most sane people would in his presence. He looked surprisingly furious and that may have been because of the steady pressure Randy was applying to his throat, but it could have also been because he lacked basic survival instincts. He took a moment to observe and commit little details about the man to memory before speaking quietly and roughly.

“What did you think you were doing back there?”

Confusion warred with Kevin's irate disposition, clear in the fluorescent lighting. Clearly he had expected Randy to be angry about Balor and while he definitely was, the more prominent topic hanging over his head was the memory of Owens nearly killing the newbie.

“What was _I_ doing?” Owens sounded disbelieving, “I was saving _your_ ass. Maybe it wasn't clear enough for you, but that guy stabbed you.”

“I had it under control.” Randy grit out between clenched teeth, pressing his arm harder, and Owens snorted after he finished choking.

“What does it matter anyways? He was in the way!”

“It matters cause' the Viper doesn't like to share.” Dean interjected, a cruel smirk on his face.

“Dean.” Randy hissed warningly and shot a glare over his shoulder; Ambrose didn't back down.

“What? You're telling me this past month you haven’t been _dying_ to ask around about him?”

“Excuse me?” The notion that other members of the Authority had noticed his interest in Stardust hadn’t even occurred to him, not with how busy he’d been.

“What, you think Barrett doesn’t talk?” Ambrose laughed, pacing a step away and then lunging right back into Randy’s space. 

“It’s none of your business.” He poisonously retorted, envisioning already how to kill Bad News next time he saw him.

“No, it is my business if it stops you from nailing a guy in the face during a fight!” Dean exploded right back, “ _I saw you_ —I saw you throw your chance down the toilet and give him the opening! And for what? A closer look? You wanted to talk to him or something?”

“I was fine.” He repeated vehemently, “That guy has nothing to do with this.”

Dean laughed mockingly, practically vibrating in place with restless energy, “Sure. Cause' letting some newbie stab you is definitely a control thing—maybe Randy, _maybe_ you're going soft.”

In that moment he snapped.

The next thing he comprehended were his hands clamping around Dean's shoulders, slamming him to the floor to get his teeth on his neck. Ambrose howled in anger, his attempts to shove the bigger man off failing at every attempt. Randy pressed down harder to counter each shove against him, easing levels of enhanced strength through his body. Distantly he registered that Paige was yelling again and that the second pair of hands tugging at him must have been Bo, but he didn't care.

Dean had allowed his transitions to activate as well, nails viciously changing into claws that tore and drag at his arms. The already injured one felt inflamed, pain needling along his muscles and setting his body alight with agony, but it was all background noise compared to Ambrose's thundering pulse and blown pupils. For a wonderful moment Randy thought he was going to actually do it. He was going to dig his teeth in hard enough to impale Dean's windpipe and tear a chunk of his throat out. It was so clear in his head—the muscles stretching and shredding and blood spurting into his mouth. He could have. A part of him thought he should have with the way Ambrose had shoved himself into Randy’s business. 

Then the door creaked open and Hunter himself walked in. 

“Orton.” His voice cut through his anger and made him pause in place like a well trained dog, “My office. _Now._ ”

Hunter’s voice was tightly wound which meant he must have already learned somehow of their failure. As disgusted with himself as he was with how easily the man could order him around, Randy released his hold on Dean and climbed off of him after aiming a threatening snarl down at his prone form. Paige must have grabbed a hold of Owens as she had him pinned in place against the wall while Bo stayed half crouched on the ground next to Ambrose. He suddenly found he didn’t want to look at their accusing stares any longer and was glad for the change in pace. Even if it meant he had to deal with the big boss.

“You three--take him to whoever is on duty and get yourselves cleaned up.” Hunter’s words were clipped, allowing no argument.

If Randy’s team responded he didn’t have time to notice; Hunter’s strides out the door were purposeful and promised punishment if he didn’t get the answer he wanted. There was no point in trying to speak to the other man until he clearly initiated the conversation however, and Randy was not so far gone that he’d grovel. They entered a sleek elevator, the floors polished enough to reflect.

There was no music in the machine, nothing to distract Randy from how tightly his fists were still clenched and how much he wanted to rip something--anything--apart. The buttons for every floor lit up as they passed them and given how many levels the building had, there were quite a few to go through. Halfway up the expanse though Hunter reached out and pressed the emergency stop, wide hand betraying how wound up he was as well. 

He was doing this on purpose, of course. Hunter knew how much Randy disliked enclosed spaces and took great pleasure in forcing his former teammate to suffer through anything he hated. 

“Do you have any idea what opportunity you’ve wasted today because of your incompetence?” Hunter quietly asked.

And there it was--he was expected to take the blame for everything that had happened, just like always. Too suddenly Randy could feel the years spent with the Authority weigh down on him, the time he wasted being forced to take Hunter’s crap and pretend that he could deal with it. His instinct was to tell the other man to take his opinions on what just happened and shove it up his ass. The logical part of him argued that if he strayed from Hunter’s grasp now he would only cause more trouble for himself, trouble that he couldn’t afford the way things were right now.

Mechanically he brought his arms up to cross over his chest, defensive and tightly anchoring himself in place. Hunter was staring at him, expectant for some sort of response that would give him ammo to keep tearing into him. Randy hated this, he absolutely loathed this.

“They weren’t supposed to be there.” He finally managed through grit teeth, fingers squeezed so tightly he was sure he was cutting indents into his palms.

Hunter’s disbelieving bark of laughter did nothing to ease the atmosphere, “They’re _never_ supposed to be there, Orton! But you’re supposed to be able to handle them!”

“We did!” Randy exploded back.

“No, Randy--you didn’t. You know how I know?” Hunter’s voice dropped to a heated whisper, “Because the guy I told you to bring back was Balor. And I don’t see him.”

What could he do? Everything that he tried to protest would be countered and dissected like a bug on a cork-board, nothing would be good enough to excuse what occurred. He was going to have to stand still and allow himself to be dragged through the conversation whether he liked it or not. No person should have to deal with this-- _Randy Orton_ should not have to roll over and let some egotistical has-been lord a power trip over him.

“What, nothing to say?” Hunter sneered, an ugly look on his cleanly shaved face. 

Randy couldn’t hear anything over his own labored breathing other than a buzzing noise in his ears. Very slowly he raised his gaze from being fixated on the floor to Hunter’s nose, concentrating on everything around the man’s eyes in an effort not to make direct contact and trigger fight or flight instincts. 

“Find someone else to do your work then.” He rumbled, a warning tone weaved around his words.

“I’m sorry--are you in charge now? Do you call the shots?” Hunter’s eyebrows raised high enough to look annoyingly amused by his attitude, “Last time I checked, I was your boss.”

It was too much and so Randy figured that he couldn’t beat himself up later with how he suddenly punched a button for the closest floor and sent the elevator shuddering back into motion. Oddly Hunter didn’t say anything more and simply watched him with a hooded gaze. It was making Randy’s skin crawl and he wanted nothing more than to get out of the small space and away from Hunter before he did something that the man would make him regret.

The elevator slid to a stop gently and after a pause the doors smoothly slid open. Before Randy could fully escape however, Hunter placed his hand on the frame and leaned into his personal space--close enough to be able to see the dark circles forming under his eyes and the lines beginning to settle on his face.

“You’re off the case.” Hunter softly said, “But to make this up to me you’re going to be pulling double time with anything else I tell you to do, no questions asked.”

This was not a compromise, this was replacing one shitty situation with another and expecting him to be satisfied with the result. Nevertheless Randy gave a jerky nod and stepped away from the other man. He wasn’t sure where he was walking, he just wanted time to clear his head.

“And Orton?” Randy paused but didn’t bother turning around, “If you fail like that again you’re going to learn the true meaning of regret.”

He could hear the elevator doors snick shut quietly and then the cables hum. Hunter’s words echoed in his head, a song stuck on repeat that wouldn’t leave him alone. With a snarl Randy lashed out, sending his fist through a wall and then jerking it back out. His knuckles were bruised and bloody but the pain was something he could concentrate on. He’d patch himself up at his home, too paranoid of allowing someone else to catch him vulnerable.

If someone had a problem with the vandalized office space, they could deal with it on their own time.

 

**

 

He was swinging outside, feet pumping energetically and propelling him back and forth. The day was perfect, a sunny afternoon with the slightest hint of a breeze, and he knew his friends would be envious when they found out that he’d gotten to go to the park while they’d been stuck inside doing homework. Hands pushed on him every time he swung back and helped him achieve more momentum going forwards.

“You like swinging, Cody?” His father laughed, breathless but willing to continue pushing to catch a glimpse of the smile on his face.

“It’s closer to space!” He shouted back and eagerly drank in the endless stretch of sky above him as he reached the highest point of the swing’s arc. For a second he was floating, weightless and so happy he felt like his heart could burst from his chest. The next he was grounded again, swooping backwards and getting an eyeful of the dirt covered playground.

Dusty sounded pleased with his response, but any words he said in return were lost in the wind. The very fact that he was on a playground and his father was with him only meant one thing: he was dreaming. Dusty had never taken Cody to the park a day in his life.

Reality caught up and Cody felt the smile on his face slip, hands clenched tighter around the chains of the swing. The sky suddenly looked less welcoming and more threatening, the large expanse ominously darkened and rumbling with intent. 

“Dad--” He started, but was cut off as he was harshly pushed by larger hands instead of the gentle ones that had propelled him from behind.

He was pitched forward by the shove, knees cracking onto the tiled floors of his old school instead of the soft dirt of the playground. There were people surrounding him, faces shadowed but murmurs so clear. 

“Is he really--”

“Damien said--”

“Isn’t that dangerous or some--”

He looked up with frantic eyes, gaze swiveling from one person to the next. They were all keeping distance from him but had pressed into a tight circle, cutting off chances for escape. The boy who’d shoved him was advancing, fists raised to inflict damage while several students cheered in the background. Why wasn’t anyone helping? Were they all going to watch him get hurt and do nothing? Why--why--

“Stardust.”

Cody’s head snapped up and locked in onto the boy who he’d thought had been his best friend. Again the boy repeated his name, the other students chiming in and chanting it like a death sentence. Cody lifted his arms to protect himself, heart beating wildly and anxiety closing his windpipe enough to make it hard to breathe. He felt like he was being shaken though no one had laid a hand on him, not yet.

“Stardust-- _Stardust!_ ”

A terrified gasp exited his lips at the same time his eyes finally snapped open, the nightmare dissipating not quite fast enough from his vision. He was terrified that he was going to be hit again, that he was still surrounded by a group of mocking faces all thirsty for his blood. There were hands trying to grasp onto his shoulders and he let loose a yelp, swinging out wildly with an arm and catching the perpetrator in the chest. 

The pained noise that followed finally gave him pause. Chest heaving from exertion and body trembling, Stardust took in where he was and reeled his arm in carefully. The walls were white but not clinically so, and a quick glance down revealed that he was in a bed and stripped of John’s shirt. There were bandages wound around his chest, and upon comprehension his abdomen throbbed.

“You okay?” 

Punk of all people was braced against another bed beside him, one hand steadying himself on the mattress and the other cupped protectively around his middle. Stardust felt his gaze waver, unsure where to look first. It clicked a second later that this must have been who he’d accidentally hit in his panic and the knowledge calmed down his paranoia to the point of only feeling the distant pulse of his heart rate settling instead of spine tingling adrenaline. 

“Stardust?” Punk repeated, looking like he sorely wanted to snap his fingers to get his attention, “You there, buddy?”

“I--” He exhaled shakily, “Yes.”

He had expected the other man to get angry for hitting his wound now that he’d settled down, but instead Punk looked relieved that he didn’t have to deal with the situation any longer and chuckled lightly. The smaller man moved to settle back on his own bed, grunting from the exertion. A twang of guilt resonated through his mind, but fresh wave of pain emanating from his skull overrode the feeling mostly. Stardust hissed to himself and raised a shaking hand to cradle his head.

“You got hit pretty hard.” Punk commented and watched him curiously. Why was he staring? Was there something on his face?

Stardust warily glanced back to him while he massaged his fingers on a lump he’d located on the back of his skull, mouth pinched in distrust. The other man was being oddly friendly and acting like he hadn’t almost been killed by the Authority. What kind of a person acted like that? Especially to him? He had to be a weirdo. 

Punk must have sensed his mistrust because his expression calmed into something less searching, “I’m fine. I’ve had worse, believe me. Are you okay? You looked like you were having a bad dream.”

The man was prying for information.

“It was nothing.” He mumbled.

“Yeah, dreams are hard to remember.” Punk thoughtfully replied, an open invitation for him to keep talking.

Instead silence followed the awkward conversation, a heavy thing that made Stardust feel more uncomfortable as each second passed. He was reviewing the memories in his head and struggling to separate the fiction of his nightmare from the reality of what must have happened before he’d been knocked out. It was always a fight to sort out the information his brain had at a single point in time.

“Kevin hit you.” The statement was offered like an olive branch and despite Stardust’s initial suspicions he grasped onto it greedily, gaze cutting from the other man back to his bedspread rapidly. Better to talk about what had actually happened than psychoanalyze him. 

“...What precisely…?” 

“You don’t remember?” Punk looked sheepish as soon as the words were out of his mouth, “Oh, right, head injury. Forgot.”

The tattooed man’s face scrunched up with thought and his gaze wandered from the door to his own bed. He was picking at his nails, a habitual movement. Stardust allowed his attention to stray briefly, noting with interest that there was in fact a window to the room but it appeared to be night outside. How long had he been out of it? How had he gotten back? 

If Cena had carried him he was going to hide in his room and never come out.

“Kevin--Owens, stabbed me in the back.” Punk started with grim reluctance, “I don’t know why, but he did. The only reason I’m pretty sure things didn’t actually go worse was because of you.”

The appreciation in the man’s tone made Stardust stiffen awkwardly, unused to being thanked even if it was in a roundabout way. The suspicion that was alongside it, however, set him on edge even more. He gave a jerky nod, remembering Owens furiously staring up at him from the floor. He’d definitely held a knife to a man’s neck, hadn’t he? The very memory made him shiver--knives were too personal, too intimate. It made him feel squeamish to know that he’d nearly sliced a man’s neck open, enemy or not.

Although...he had actually stabbed the other man. Viper. The one that people said would rip a person in half and apparently bathe in their blood or something-or-other. This was already shaping up to bite him in the rear later. 

“How’d you know about him?” Punk’s voice sliced through his thoughts, “How’d you know he was going to betray us?”

There were many different ways to answer that and all of them would give away things about himself he wasn’t ever comfortable with revealing. Stardust shrugged noncommittally, cramped in his own skin. He concentrated his efforts on scratching at the bed sheets, resisting the urge to slap at his head and try to jog memories loose; at least then he wouldn’t have to use another person to get things straightened out. 

“Why were you hiding Balor?”

Now it was Punk’s turn to freeze, caught in a spotlight he was fine with turning on other people. Perhaps it was wrong of him, but Stardust relished the flicker of surprise that passed over the other man. Polite as he could be, he was still too nosy for his own good and it didn’t settle well with him.

“...He didn’t have anywhere else to go.” 

Stardust hadn’t expected an answer, let alone the possible truth. He pinched his mouth into a disbelieving line--there was no way it was as simple as that. Things never were. Punk eyed him cautiously as he shook his head violently, a jittery movement that betrayed how off balance he felt.

The man continued, “I thought that maybe if we could team up with you guys it’d be okay to keep him a secret. For a little while, at least. But I guess Owens shot that idea to hell.”

It was off putting to hear the self deprecating laugh that came from the other man. Any satisfaction at catching Punk off guard ebbed away and was replaced with a distressing amount of building anxiety. Stardust didn’t like this, he didn’t like how closely the man was acting with him despite having known him for less than a day. 

“John--the WWE-- doesn’t know yet but I swear I wasn’t trying to get anyone in trouble.” A likely story, “I just...needed to know that you weren’t going to get the drop on me the second I turned my back.”

Interesting, so it seemed he had an advantage in all of this at least. Which meant he had a choice to make: reveal that Punk had knowingly hidden a criminal or allow him to keep it a secret.

“We play the heroes.” Stardust bluntly responded, “That is the role for the villains of this story.”

Again Punk laughed, though this time it had a meaner edge to it, “Kid, if you really think that then I feel sorry for you. Now you gonna tell me how you knew or am I gonna have to guess? Fair's fair, right?”

Stardust didn’t respond, abruptly ceasing all movement and staring the man down. The only reason he could think of as to why Punk was pressing so hard was because the man already had his suspicions about his abilities. Despite the urge to keep things to himself and hold all the cards, it was not lost on him that if he were to cast a line and form some bond of trust he could use Punk as well. The man had access to people and information that could come in handy in the future--and if there was anything Goldust had taught him that had stuck, it had definitely been to be resourceful and not limit himself to all the rules.

“Please.” Punk tried again, “I need to know how I messed up.”

He took another moment to rearrange himself and stall the conversation, half heartedly ignoring Punk’s intent stare and allowing the moment to draw out.

“If I tell you,” He delicately began, “I need to know that you won’t reveal this information to anyone else. It’s not yours to gossip about.”

Stardust steeled his gaze and leveled it with Punk whose own expression sobered near immediately with the seriousness of his tone. Whatever game they were playing had all but been acknowledged, and even though this could eventually weigh less in his favor Stardust was intrigued to see how it played out. Besides, he could always use a discrete helping hand or two to cooperate with more...personal family matters. The WWE definitely had reach but it was too risky to actually involve anyone other than himself.

The other man considered for only a second before nodding shortly, “You got something on me--who am I gonna tell?”

Only now did he notice the tired circles ringed around Punk’s eyes and the way stubble was peppering his sunken in cheeks. The other man was truly worn ragged with the day’s events, which meant he must look even worse.

“I see things--events. No, no, let’s call them _possibilities._ ” Finding the right descriptions was a pain, especially given how he never really made a habit of talking about what he could do, “I see cosmic possibilities of what could be, and what probably will be. Back in that dark dungeon, I saw that Owens was more than likely going to mortally wound Cena and subsequently ruin whatever fight followed.”

“No way.” Punk breathed, watching him now with a far too interested expression, “Foresight is supposed to be impossible. People either go insane or it’s something different.”

Stardust allowed himself to preen like a proud bird at the awe in the other man’s tone, taking the moment to bask and smugly grin. He knew what he could do was unique (though telling multiple people was certainly out of the question--the last thing he needed was a mob coming after him and asking question after question). Though his chest and head ached in protest at his movements, he didn’t allow them to stop him from trying to look as important as possible. It was funny how one second he could not want to socialize in any way and the next it was as though he couldn’t get enough of it.

“So you’re telling me that you can see the future and the WWE doesn’t know?” Punk questioned and then looked ruthlessly excited at Stardust’s answering nod, “Then you don’t gotta worry about me saying a word. I’ve wanted a leg up on these guys for years.”

“Really?” If he sounded disbelieving it wasn’t his fault.

“Really really.” Punk confirmed, “Let’s just say that the WWE and I have had some problems in the past. I’d feel better knowing that there’s a hidden ace I could call on rather than them.”

Hidden ace--he kind of liked the sound of that. 

“I’m sure there’s compromises we could strategize at a later date.” 

The door opened and Stardust reflexively froze, head swiveling towards the source paranoidly. Natalya stepped in and scrutinized them, a fresh roll of gauze in one hand while the other tapped agitatedly on the door frame. There were voices out in the hallway, but there were too many to place which meant headquarters must be busy despite the late hour.

“Natalya! Is it me or have you grown more beautiful since I last saw you?” Punk easily switched gears to smile broadly at the bemused woman.

“Last time you saw me you were bleeding out from being stabbed multiple times with a broken bottle and I had to stay up the whole night stabilizing you.”

“We can’t all be perfect.” Punk airily replied, waving a hand through the hair flippantly.

Natalya scoffed and turned her gaze to Stardust, “Stardust, how are you feeling?”

The conversation was moving much too quickly for his aching head to keep up with but he made some sort of agreeable noise, hoping that the wordless response was enough. The woman still looked troubled and glanced down at the gauze before peering at him again.

“You know it’d help if I could look up any medical information on you.” She approached him like one would with a cornered animal, “I know the others said you refuse to give your last name, but maybe I could know it at least? Just in case?”

He’d already had one conversation revealing a secret, he wasn’t going to say anything more about himself. Besides, he had all the allies he needed for now. Natalya at least read the signs accordingly and halted from her advancements, even if her brow was still furrowed with concern and frustration.

“Don’t mind him, Nattie.” Punk caught her attention again, “He’s just mad because I’m the reason he didn’t get his head squashed.”

“You were dying on the floor!” Stardust loudly protested, bristling at the statement. 

“Correction: I was bleeding out on the floor _while_ I stopped anyone else from getting nailed in the gut.”

The sound that left Stardust was a squawk, and it made Punk inhale like he was going to start laughing at him. Natalya intervened with a put upon sigh, tossing the gauze at the tattooed man with more force than necessary and ignoring his dramatic protests.

“He can manipulate gifts.” She provided, “Which means most times people can’t actually use them around him or he steals them for short periods of time.”

“Stealing is such a strong word.” Punk sulked, “I prefer borrowing.”

“I just need to check you one more time and then you’re free to go.” Natalya continued to ignore him and kept her gaze trained on Stardust, “You’re lucky the Viper didn’t hit you any deeper.”

“You’re lucky I stopped Owens from caving your head in!”

Natalya fixated a glare at Punk who immediately shut up, brushing it off with a mutter of being unappreciated. 

“Before I forget, Becky said to meet her when you’re able to walk again. She said you’d know what that mean.” She dryly stated and moved closer to Stardust to check him, “Oh, and you have guests.”

“ _BADA BOOM_ \--oh, shit. How you doin’, boss?” A ratty looking man virtually launched himself into the room and was followed by a man so tall that Stardust faintly wondered how he didn’t smack his head on the frame, “Before ya’ say anything, I gotta tell ya’: you’ve looked better.”

Punk’s expression was something akin to despair as they closed in on his bed, the smaller one yammering nonstop while the taller one hovered over his partner and smiled obliviously, unbothered by the noise volume that they’d brought in. Natalya at the very least shot Stardust an apologetic look while she began changing his bandages and checking out the gashes on his chest. It was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: hopefully I get the update out sooner.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lordy this chapter didn't want to be written. Special guests include two of my favorite divas and the realest guys in the room (who are surprisingly fun to write).
> 
> This one's a little bit shorter but the next will have more plot to it and expansion!

“I can't believe we got stuck with clean up duty.” Naomi grumbled, half hidden on her perch.

Natalya scoffed at her complaining, adjusting her own stance so that she was crouched in a less cramped position. The leather of her uniform squeaked and it was enough to make Stardust choke back a laugh. There was just something about hearing obnoxious noises that stuck with him—maybe it was because he had a bad habit of making them himself but that was beside the point. The blonde woman shot him a warning look though the effect was somewhat ruined by the amusement in her eyes as well.

“Everyone has to do it.” Natalya firmly responded and ignored Naomi's eye roll, plowing on with determination, “We just happen to be the unlucky pick of the week.”

“More like unlucky pick _every_ week.” The other woman retorted, rubbing her arms in the chill provided by the shade.

“Naomi, c'mon, it isn't that bad.”

Naomi slumped, unenthusiastically picking at an errant curly lock that was hanging loose over her face. There was something bothering her and while Stardust hadn't really seen much of the woman outside of when she was in a mood, he gathered that this time it was a little different. Nevertheless he remained quiet for the time being, not wanting to interrupt the personal conversation. It was obvious to him that while he was included in this trio he was still an outsider, even with someone as patient and oddly kind as Natalya. He wouldn't even know what to say even if he did have the chance—talking to women was something he wasn't necessarily skilled at and Naomi always managed to make him feel like a child.

“It's just,” Naomi started after heaving a sigh, “I don't get it. I've proved how strong I am, I've taken down some big name people. But they keep sticking me with all the jobs no one else wants to do while people like _him_ get taken along to meet the NXT and end up fighting the Authority.”

The woman gestured at him and Stardust shrank in on himself, awkwardly adjusting and readjusting his gloves. Her tone wasn't accusing but neither was it welcoming.

“It's not fair to me—I've been here way longer so why do people like him get to go out and do all the big stuff while I'm stuck here picking off jaywalkers and grocery store robbers?”

Natalya looked pained and hesitated to respond once Naomi stopped talking. Silence settled in that was broken only by the usual sounds of the city, and Stardust uncomfortably shifted his gaze to the street below them. There were quite a few people milling around but that was probably because it was still the early morning rush. Citizens were booking it to work or to accomplish errands which meant the hustle and bustle of the city was more busy and less annoyingly loud.

They had been instructed that morning, albeit fairly gently and sheepishly, by Bryan that they'd been picked to run the early checks. Stardust had been on one or two sweeps now and he'd teamed up with a random assortment of heroes every time. The last time he'd been given the task he'd been paired with the Usos (much to his chagrin) and the way they'd talked about the subject had given off the impression that this duty was normally reserved for the newer members of the WWE. Given how lately their ranks had been more spotty as of late, he wondered if old ways were ceasing to work.

“Naomi--” Natalya tried after waiting a moment too long.

“Don't.” Naomi cut her off, focusing her gaze off of her pants and back onto the environment around them, “Forget I said anything.”

“But--”

“Nattie,” Naomi glanced briefly at her, “Please. Just drop it and let's get this done.”

Natalya looked like she wanted to argue more but closed her mouth once Naomi not-so-subtly cut her eyes to Stardust and then back to the other woman. Again Stardust picked self consciously at his uniform and tried to pretend that he wasn't aware of how much his presence was unwanted and an inconvenience to the women.

He'd been struggling as of late with more and more people of the WWE. Ever since Punk had been fixed up and left with a quiet promise that he'd be in contact, things had been off. He wasn't quite sure what it even was, it just seemed like more heroes had a problem with him. Once news had spread of the large altercation that they'd accidentally encountered, a lot more people seemed sour with him. The way Naomi spoke made him wonder if it was because of his status in the grand scheme of things and how he'd managed to get caught up in some big-name problems.

The very idea was bizarre to him, especially given how he hadn’t wanted any of what had occurred that afternoon to have happened. He hadn’t exactly enjoyed being clawed at or knocked in the head so hard he’d blacked out, but the way people acted they seemed to think he’d planned on everything and involved himself to gain limelight. 

It wasn’t a secret that Stardust craved attention; he would go to painful lengths to have a person so much as look at him. He wasn’t desperate enough to throw himself headfirst at someone’s fist though. Perhaps even worse was that since the conversation he’d had with Punk he’d received no word from the other man. It was like he’d virtually disappeared, and even though Cena had reassured him that this was normal for the mercenary, it was still unsettling. There were far too many questions that didn’t have answers and far too many possible people that had been a part of the NXT that the WWE had no way of tracking down for help or to keep an eye on. The hideout had been cleared out, the only sign that there had once been life in it from various items left behind.

The search for the mysterious Finn Balor stagnated without even the slightest lead and even Stardust had to allow himself a break when other duties became more imperative. He didn’t like leaving it sitting there as it left a sour taste in his mouth, but there wasn’t much to be done.

A window broke below them, followed by a distressed cry for help, and Naomi straightened automatically. While her body tensed for trouble her face spoke volumes of how unenthusiastic she was for whomever they were going to have to deal with. Natalya stifled her own sigh and stood as well, expectantly glancing down at Stardust. He cautiously shifted to his feet, not wanting to draw Naomi’s ire any more than he already had.

Natalya cleared her throat and looked back to the other woman, “So what do we got?”

Naomi peered over the edge of the building, eyes flicking back and forth and following the path of the individuals escaping.

“Two.” She shortly responded, “I've never seen em' before.”

“Alright, this’ll be easy!” Natalya rubbed her hands together and then bounced on her feet like she was trying to shake the bad mood out, “Let's roll, guys.”

Descending the building was a little harder than ascending as it turned out. 

Naomi had no trouble walking down, nearly transparent steps of ice forming under her feet as well as Natalya's. Stardust, however, found himself having to use the fire escape ladder and struggled to clear the steep drop at the very bottom. The rungs were rusted over and the alleyway smelled distinctly of trash, a fishy sort of scent that made his stomach churn worse than it already was.

He didn't question Naomi's complete disregard for his own safety and didn't respond in any way to Natalya's apologetic stare. As it was he agreed with Naomi: at this point he just wanted to get this done so he could distance himself from all the people who made a point of disliking him. If that meant accepting his current position then he could deal with it.

The duo had gained some distance between them and so they found themselves having to run to try and catch up, dodging through the crowds of people to make their way through. Strangers seemed more inclined to stop and gawk at their bright costumes and (masterfully done) face paint than to move and allow them an easier path. Naomi was obviously an expert at it with the way she slipped and slid through the masses, easily gaining ground on the criminals while he and Nattie lagged behind. Briefly Stardust lost sight of her and he mentally groaned, fumbling for the fastest way to make people move as he bumbled through. Natalya appeared at his side, helping lead him in the right direction and clearing the way easier than he had.

“She doesn't hate you.” The woman started, eyes trained forward, “She's just stressed right now.”

This was awkward.

Stardust contemplated her words half heartedly and allowed her to lead him along by the wrist, “Perhaps. But she's not the only individual who has made it perfectly evident how unappreciated my presence is.”

Natalya looked back at him with a troubled expression for only a moment before they broke through the throngs of people that had now stopped to also watch whatever fight had broken out. Stardust stumbled after her and hissed in warning at a man that tried to yell at him for accidentally shoving into him. Several people shuffled back in response and Nattie looked exasperated as she tugged him along like a foul tempered child.

Fantastic, now they both made him feel small.

“Do you really have to do that?” She yelled over the sound of a car being tipped to use as a shield.

“Do what?” Stardust crowed back, a manic-tinged smile lighting up on his face once the adrenaline of the fight began to set in.

“Nevermind.” Natalya replied, though she looked relieved that he was grinning and turned her attention fully on the trio of people before them.

Naomi had encased the vehicle fully in ice, intent on taking the first man's hands with it. The criminal in question was heavier set than his partner and had a dapper mustache, and he pulled his hands away quickly once he realized what her goal was. The car groaned in protest as it fell back into a sitting position, ice cracking and breaking all over the metal. The other man, taller and red haired, directed his attention towards them.

“Who are these guys supposed to be?” Natalya called over her shoulder and slid to a halt before she came too close to the ginger. Stardust stumbled at her sudden stop, accidentally slamming into her back and knocking her off balance.

The way the men tittered at their vain attempts to right themselves, nearly slipping again on the patches of ice that spotted the ground, spoke volumes of what they already thought of them. The crowd gathered had similar opinions Stardust grumpily realized as he heard several individuals laugh at their windmilling arms. It wasn’t their fault they’d never been in the field together before and he’d like to see anyone else try.

“Funny, I expected the WWE to be more...intimidating.” The ginger taunted and tossed a low hanging part of his scarf over his shoulder with a dramatic flick of his wrist. Their costumes seemed oddly out of date with the times, possibly referencing back to earlier years as a theme.

“ _Ohhhh,_ just you wait--” Natalya muttered lowly and braced her feet before lunging forward.

Stardust suffered no doubts about the woman being able to beat the villain into a pulp, and similarly Naomi seemed to be holding her own against the man with the mustache. This was the problem with being the extra hero in a fight; feeling like the awkward third wheel to a date was probably not what people normally would describe the experience as, but it fit fairly well in his mind. He pulled a face that he was sure looked disgruntled, watching avidly as the mustachioed man let loose an animalistic roar (though accompanied by a surprisingly dashing smile) and proceeded to grow at least ten sizes bigger.

His shadow practically blocked out the morning sun with the mass he achieved and Stardust found himself gaping up at the man in unison with Naomi. 

That was unexpected.

“ _Move!_ ” Naomi yelped and roughly shoved him in the chest, knocking them both to the side just before the massive man sent a fist crashing down where they had been standing.

Stardust let loose a surprised shriek when his boots slipped once more on an ice patch and sent him crashing to the concrete hard enough to make him see the planetary system. Naomi’s boots must have been made specifically to grip slippery surfaces with the way that she merely crouched before him, shoulders squared for whatever else the man decided to throw at them next. She was favoring her right leg and he realized too late that the attack must have skimmed her thigh just enough to bruise.

“Simon!” The ginger condescendingly called out and the other man paused and looked over with an acknowledging grunt, “ _Please_ try to be more classy.”

Simon made another noise (which must have meant he agreed with the way the ginger looked satisfied and then turned his attention back to Natalya trying to drop kick him) and took the time to straighten himself enough from the hunched over posture he had adapted to adjust his mustaches curl with thick fingers. The sight was surreal enough to make Stardust climb to his feet with little more than a shaky breath, hand braced on his sore backside.

“Man, screw this.” Naomi ground out, “I get enough bullshit from everyone back home I don’t need it from these guys too.”

A sheen overtook the color of her eyes, cold and furious; ice creeped up the sides of her boots and patterned her skin, and the atmosphere around her dropped several degrees. Simon swung at her hard enough to no doubt punch her head off her shoulders and Stardust cringed, not wanting to see her get knocked off her feet. There was a crunch but not the distant sort that signaled when someone was body slammed into a building. He cracked open his eyes again and then felt them nearly bulge out of his skull in shock.

Simon’s entire arm up to his elbow was coated in a thick layer of ice, halted by Naomi’s hand that was placed deceptively gentle against it. He realized with a start that the ice was growing and making its way up to the larger man’s shoulder at a rapid pace. 

All too suddenly it made no sense as to why someone with this amount of power was sidelined and detained for garbage duty. Naomi was a force of nature, one that he wouldn’t want to reckon with unless he absolutely had to. She was unrepentant, mouth twisted into a promising scowl when she placed her other hand on Simon’s frozen arm as well and sped the process up even more. The man was growing more frantic by the second trying to somehow stop her, clawing first at the heavy mass and then taking a swipe at the smaller woman.

Naomi merely side stepped the attack and readjusted her grip, the ice now making its way down Simon’s side. 

“Beautiful.” Stardust breathed, braced unsteadily on shaky feet but enthralled by the sight before him.

Apparently the woman hadn’t expected his reaction with the way that her stare cut to him and her eyes widened minutely. 

“What--” She started but was caught off as Stardust’s fist crashed into her face.

Wait.

“What the _hell?!_ ” Naomi sputtered, one hand slapped over her injured eye and the other held protectively before her.

“I--I don’t know!” He frantically replied, voice cracking in panic, “I’m sorry!”

His fists seemed to have a mind of their own and they both came up into an odd stance, like a comical fisticuffs gesture. Likewise his knees bent enough hunker him down and brace him for Naomi’s retaliating roundhouse kick towards his chest. Stardust had never been much of a graceful fighter and the easy block that his arms formed and then twisted into a lock around Naomi’s knee and thigh was something he’d never be able to pull off normally. Once again it seemed that any fights he involved himself in turned out horribly wrong.

“I swear I don’t know what’s going on!” He protested at Naomi’s irate expression.

Her wordless reply was an enraged shout before she twisted her body and sent her other leg flying straight into his head. This time his hands weren’t able to block the attack and he didn’t even have the air in his lungs to grunt in pain when her foot connected and snapped his skull mercilessly to the side. Just as fast as he’d rocked with the attack he was facing forward again, neck protesting at the amount of whiplash it was receiving. Naomi’s eyes widened a fraction at his exorcist-like movement and she took a defensive step backwards.

“Frustrating, isn’t it?” The ginger’s voice cut through their stand off as he wandered up far too calmly, “To not be able to control yourself?”

The veins in his arms were standing out, stained a dark shade of red. It was both disgusting and unsettling enough to make Stardust grimace. 

Naomi furtively glanced between his own locked pose and the other man’s smug grin and must have put the pieces together before Stardust could. She swept a hand forward and sent a wave of ice at the ginger’s legs, tips spiked lethally. The man was unsurprised by the attack and simply hop-skipped backwards to avoid getting stuck in place or stabbed in the shins. Simon was still unsuccessfully trying to break the thick blocks of ice encasing half his body, providing no assistance. But, Stardust realized with a sinking feeling, the man may be able to conjure more if necessary. 

Such as himself or anyone close enough.

“Allow me to introduce myself.” The ginger took a half bow and gave Naomi a winning smile, “My name is Aiden and that is my partner, Simon.”

A low groan of pain drew Stardust’s attention. Behind their skirmish Natalya was laying prone on the road, face turned away. He couldn’t tell from where he was if she was seriously injured and the thought of her being hurt enough to be in danger was frightening. Up to this point he hadn’t experienced anyone in the WWE being in a bad position, though there had been close calls. What if she needed a hospital? What if _he_ was the reason Naomi might get seriously injured as well?

“Should I be impressed?” Naomi dryly asked but then warily took a few steps back to keep an eye on all other individuals.

“Hardly. We’ve only recently joined the _hero_ scene.” Aiden scoffed and waved a hand through the air flippantly, “You can consider today our...introduction to the WWE.”

“Not interested.” Naomi spat back.

It took all of Stardust’s willpower not to glance behind Aiden and Simon again. In his peripheral vision he could see Natalya finally moving. Her face was clouded with pain but she continued to discreetly climb to her feet while Naomi amped up her bravado.

“You misunderstand. We already have benefactors and we certainly aren’t interested in joining with the _Enforcers._ ” The man said the title like a curse word, "We're more interested in the trouble that we can cause you."

“You know what I think?” Naomi asked, rolling her shoulders.

There was ice prickling on her biceps now and frost puffed every time she exhaled. Something didn’t feel right about the way she held herself in place. The ice was slowly encasing her but it didn’t seem as planned as the cage put on Simon.

“Do share.” Aiden smiled wryly, one hand bent behind his back and the other held out expectantly.

“You talk too much.” 

Whatever the man might have said in return was cut off by Natalya’s sudden cry when she smashed into him from behind. Aiden hit his head hard on the ice and his forehead began to bleed, cut by the sharp edges. The control he’d had on Stardust’s body wavered enough for him to clench his hands into fists and determinedly lower his arms. The pace was slow and painful, muscles burning in protest from being forced into a different direction than they were being puppetted, but he continued on. The last thing he needed to be was a hindrance to the women again.

An ominous creak drew his attention in time to witness Simon finally breaking through the ice, blocks of frozen water spinning haphazardly away. Naomi cursed and dodged backwards, crackling noises following her. The frozen patterns on her own skin were developing tiny cracks and breaks in the otherwise smooth coat every time she moved. She drew her arms up, more than likely to send another powerful wave at her oncoming enemy.

“Naomi--don’t!” Natalya cried, struggling to speak around her attempts to pin Aiden and knock him out. 

She faltered just enough for Simon’s punch to land in her gut and send her reeling backwards. There was a cry of dismay and Stardust distantly registered that it was his own. He was forced to watch her hit the ground harshly and gasp for air, coughing from the impact of the larger man’s fist. If he could just regain control a little faster--just move quick enough to get between the two--sweeps weren't supposed to go like this--

“Ow.” Naomi’s voice sounded brittle, forced out between wheezes.

Simon advanced with single-minded determination, an ugly smile on his face. He towered over her, fists raised again as she struggled to right herself.

“Incomin’!” A stranger’s voice cut through the shrieks of the crowd.

Natalya had only a half a second to roll desperately to the side before lightning struck where she’d been laying prone on the concrete, close enough to force Simon back lest he be electrocuted. The cement was scorched through the layers of ice and oozed a nasty burning smell that permeated the air thickly. Two men were sprinting up, one incredibly tall and the other sporting an odd haircut.

Hold on, he’d seen them before--

“ _Zo’_ \--what the hell?!” The bigger of the duo yelled in outrage, but cut off the next second into a grunt when he ran _through_ Simon and then pulled him into a lock from behind.

Right, that was right. Cass and Enzo, followers of CM Punk and potential members of the NXT. Stardust blinked owlishly at the smaller man, momentarily forgetting his struggle to be able to move on his own.

Enzo had the decency to look startled and sheepish over the fact that he’d nearly electrocuted Naomi, but he recovered valiantly. The ferrety man hopped from foot to foot and waved his arms around like he was determined to fist fight the air.

“I didn’t mean ta’!” He protested loudly, “I was aimin’ to the left!”

“Who--” Naomi had managed to climb to her feet, arms wrapped protectively around her middle. The ice had finally stopped encasing her body but nothing had eased off yet which was worrying. Enzo regarded her with fascination and concern, and he let loose an impressed whistle.

“Damn girl, you really did a number on yourself, huh?” 

“A little _help_ here!” Natalya cut them off, legs locked around Aiden’s upper half and his arm pulled back into a hold.

However, she was straining and Stardust realized suddenly that the outside pressure had dropped from his body completely as though it’d never been there in the first place. The way Natalya fought to keep her hands dug into Aiden’s limb clued him in on who exactly the man was trying to take control of now.

“M’on it!” Enzo, instead of running directly at them, rubbed his hands together ferociously.

A moment later and he was adding in jogging in place, skittering from side to side excitedly. The air around him popped and hummed with energy, gathering enough in a short few seconds for the volume to increase to a loud whine. Then, without warning, he let loose an enthusiastic cry and jolted forwards, fast enough to leave Stardust and Naomi blinking in surprise at each other. As soon as Enzo’s hands made contact with Aiden’s struggling form there was an explosion of electricity that knocked Natalya clear off of him and had the ginger going limp seconds afterwards. 

“How you doin’?!” He ferociously cried and pointed viciously at the knocked out criminal.

A resounding thump followed as Cass dropped an unconscious Simon to the floor. The intimidatingly tall man was breathing heavily, and parts of him were strangely flickering in and out, but he seemed otherwise unharmed. Around them people were cheering and he could hear police sirens drawing closer. Stardust ignored all other distractions and hurriedly made his way to Naomi who peered at him suspiciously when he drew near.

“Are you--” He began and then tried to reword, “Does your flesh normally do that?”

Natalya huffed out a tired laugh at the question and plopped more comfortably to the ground while Naomi glared at him. 

“Only when she pushes herself too much.”

“Nat--” Naomi began and then Enzo was suddenly on them, zipping around in place like some sort of over-excited chihuahua. 

“Tell me ya’ saw that! Was I great or was I great?!” 

Cass lumbered over with a patient smile and he rubbed at his still fluctuating arm, “Yeah, Zo’. You knocked that one outta the park.”

Enzo puffed up, now resembling a proud bird, but simultaneously scuffed the back of his hand over his nose self consciously. Stardust wondered exactly how many things the man was going to end up being comparable to. He obviously had what Goldust would have referred to as, “character.”

“Ain’t ever landed somethin’ like that before. Felt good.”

“Will someone tell me _what the hell is going on?_ ” Naomi finally demanded.

Everyone settled down around her, and Stardust realized with a start that Cass and Enzo were staring expectantly at him. He wavered and glanced over at Natalya only to find her gaze following theirs and locking onto him as well. 

“Of course.” Naomi muttered, “The freak would know.”

Natalya shot her a warning look that she purposely ignored. He wasn’t sure what they were thinking he was going to say; he was just as lost as the rest of them as to how all of this happened. With the police closing in and bringing with them all sorts of blaring sirens and barked orders he could feel his concentration waning.

“You’re NXT, correct?” He attempted.

“Bingo!” Enzo grinned and then seemed to rethink, “Well, sorta. We was gonna be cause’ we got recruited right outta Jersey--crazy world amiright, who would’a thought we’d land ourselves in this fancy pants city-- but then some crazy shit went down and the boss got messed up and next thing ya’ know _BOOM_ the home base s’empty and we ain’t got no where to go.”

“...Come again?” Natalya’s smile strained at the edges.

“Sorry.” Cass had the look of a man who had been forced to deal with this exact situation many times in the past, “What he means s’that we were s’pposed to start all the big stuff with, uh, Punk, but he kinda up and disappeared before we could get anywhere.”

“Yeah! S’zaxtly what I said...” Enzo looked put upon and moodily toed at the ground with his shoe.

“So you’re telling me that you two are unregistered power positives running around the city and you don’t even know how to use your abilities safely?” Natalya’s smile had dropped by this point.

Cass, at least, looked embarrassed.

“Yes ma’am, pretty much.”

“So what exactly are _we_ supposed to do about this?” Naomi interrupted and twitched as ice began to melt off of her, “Look, the WWE isn’t some charity. And you two seem like you’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

“Naomi we can’t just leave them on their own.” Natalya sighed in exasperation, “Especially now that we know what they do isn’t exactly safe for other people.”

“Sides’,” Enzo grumbled, “Not like you’re some perfect example of control.”

Naomi took a threatening step towards him and he skittered backwards towards Cass, hands coming up automatically to ward her off.

“I’m just sayin’!” He yelped, “You got somethin’ like me, right? All one with nature n’ shit? You was strugglin’ back there, thought you were gonna gank yourself!”

“ _Do not_ compare me to you.” She hissed, the ice momentarily surged back up her spine before ebbing away once more.

“Guys, can we please just talk like adults for five seconds?” The frustration in Natalya’s voice rose.

“The police have arrived.” Stardust helpfully provided, “And Natalya’s bleeding from the abdomen.”

“What?!” Naomi rounded on the other woman who brushed off her concern with a stiff smile.

“It’s fine, Naomi. You know I heal quickly.”

“Uh, we ain’t so good wit’ the law.” Cass nervously interjected and watched the approaching officers with dread in his eyes.

“Technically they can’t do anything without proper paperwork and--” Stardust began.

“Okay--everyone just shut up and let me handle this!” Natalya commanded loudly, silencing the odd rag tag assembly, "You two don't say another word until we get back to the WWE and sort this out."

Enzo did a finger salute while Cass mimed zipping his lips behind him.

“Just what we need.” Naomi grumbled, “More sideshows.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: a potential motley hero group is forming.
> 
> Also a reminder that I'd love to talk about the story with you at my tumblr: starcussed.tumblr.com


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this chapter is 21 pages long holy crap. Dudes, I really do appreciate every comment I receive! I wanted to thank you guys for everything you've said, it really keeps me going and makes me want to keep expanding this universe!
> 
> We'll be hitting some major plot soon and with that comes Balor so look forward to that. :^)

Chilly fall afternoons made work harder. Maybe it was due to the snake-like influences his power had on his body, but a side effect seemed to be that Randy preferred the hot and dry summer weather. Unfortunately the city he lived in was prone to all extremities, which meant suffering through snowfall in the cooler seasons. The boulder he had been attempting to heft wobbled defiantly, perched on and propped up by one of his sweating shoulders.

“Oi-- put your back into it!” Barrett gleefully called.

_His_ boulder was being lifted by a harsh red force field like it was as light as a pillow. It was dropped in Wade’s ever growing pile once the energy field dissipated, vanishing in a blink.

“What’s the hold up, Orton?” Barrett called again, lounging against the shade of a solitary small tree to take cover under the few leaves left.

Randy rolled his eyes, pressed his lips together tightly for a brief moment, and then bared his teeth into a sneer at the lankier man. It didn’t have any effect but it made him feel better with how he was suffering through his third cement slab.

As it had turned out busy work for Hunter had changed since he’d last been tortured with it. What was once extra paperwork and office hours had turned into manual labor. Hunter must have wised up with how Randy used to treat punishment time as a means to laze off and have someone else finish his work. Potentially that was also why none of his team mates were here or else Bo would probably be tripping over himself to help (all the while providing scathing passive aggressive remarks). Or maybe it was because last time Randy had seen them he’d nearly ripped Dean’s throat out. One of life’s greater mysteries.

Barrett’s footsteps through the dirt didn’t go unmissed. Randy cocked his head slightly to the side and traced his moves.

“Remind me again why we have to move broken concrete from that side of the road,” Wade pointed to the opposite side of the street and then to their side, “to _this_ spot specifically?”

It was a good question but Randy never let anyone know he was clueless. He shrugged noncommittally and broke their stare off to note his surroundings for the fifth time that afternoon.

“Construction.”

“If it’s construction then why doesn’t he bloody well hire trained professionals?” Barrett threw his arms up in the air, fuming.

“Technically we are professionals.” Randy mildly replied and watched the temper tantrum with interest.

“Technically,” Wade growled, “we’re professionals at fighting and ruining lives. Not architecture.”

Randy considered his words and shoved the large slab hard enough to finally topple it over the other two. The rock gave a sad groan as it settled into place. He’d long since stripped his coat off and left himself in his undershirt. Sweat stained the sleeves and his back, hanging loosely from his abdomen as he hunched over the little work he’d managed to accomplish. The feeling of moisture dampening his clothes and then re-drying was enough to chill him to the bone. 

Already the sun was high enough in the sky to begin cycling down, crowning the tips of the skyscrapers. Barrett had sat down heavily and was rubbing his forehead with the palm of his hand. Unlike Randy he was down to his tank, over-shirt long since tied around his waist. Dust and dirt speckled his jeans and turned the frayed bottoms brown.

“Depends on what your definition of ruining lives is.” Randy commented, gaze wandering to the few rocks that remained.

Wade looked up to peer at him around his arm, brow furrowed in confusion. His nose had healed fairly well as far as he could tell--or as well as the permanently crooked beak could manage.

“You what now?”

“Professionals at fighting and ruining lives.” Randy quoted, “As far as I see it I’m helping myself and others at the expense of some.”

“That’s called villainy, yeah.” Barrett agreed, confused as to where he was going.

Randy huffed, skin crawling already from talking so much to someone he’d rather violently shove face first into their concrete piles, “Sounds awfully familiar doesn’t it?”

It took Barrett a second to puzzle his words out, and while he did this Randy tromped back over to one of the remaining two, lifting it with a grunt. He was thankful he wouldn’t have to practically roll this one. That was a humiliating experience he’d rather not repeat; his pride had been checked enough in his opinion.

“You mean like the police?” Wade let out a condescending laugh, “Mate, I hate to tell you but--”

“The WWE.” Randy interrupted, “I’m talking about the WWE, you idiot.”

That shut Wade up for a few more minutes. His jaw clicked shut and he made his way over to generate a field under the remaining rock, lifting the energy barrier and the block like they weighed nothing and looping back around to finish the job. Sometimes Randy really hated his ability.

“It’s different though.” Wade thoughtfully said after setting the slab down and resting his weight against it, “I mean, the WWE stops bad guys-- AKA us.”

“And we fight them because they fight us.” Randy replied.

He tightened his hand into a fist and then unclenched it, watching how the bones and muscles moved beneath his skin. The gash on the inside of his forearm had been stitched up and had healed mostly by now but there was a long scar outlining where the blade had entered. Normally he healed slightly quicker and could withstand more abuse, but there was only so much his body could tolerate without proper medical care. The needle and thread in his bathroom’s cabinet had had to be enough; it wasn’t like he’d never sewn himself shut and after leaving the building furious that night he hadn’t even considered going to a hospital.

The discolored, puckered mark remained and Randy’s mouth twisted into a displeased grimace. He dropped his arm and decided to concentrate instead on Barrett’s beard.

“If you say so.” Wade’s tone suggested how critical he was of Randy’s opinions, “Why the sudden interest in the Enforcers?”

“I’m always interested in them.” Randy defensively responded.

“Maybe, but you never bring them up--especially not to theorize the moral food chain.” Barrett cracked a smirk; it made his face look uglier, if possible.

What was most annoying was that Wade wasn’t wrong. As isolated a man that he was, it was uncharacteristic for him to just suddenly strike up a friendly conversation about their enemies. Dean’s words echoed in his head, as they had been doing for weeks.

Going soft, huh.

“What do you think of the punishment?” He veered the topic abruptly.

“Awful.” Wade grunted, “But I have you to thank for this.”

He’d been allowed to pick a partner for all the labor-intensive work he’d been assigned to. The Bad News had been the perfect choice, of course. Not the most ideal method of revenge, but he’d take what he could get and exact more at a later time.

“Teaches a valuable lesson.” Randy finally moved off of his perch against the stones and began walking towards their belongings placed to the side.

“What? Like don’t talk about _Stardust?_ ”

Of course.

It was too late to hide the slight change in his body language and the hitch in his stride. He didn’t need to look at Wade to know that he was grinning triumphantly for catching him off guard. The simmering feeling of heated fury skittered across his senses and down his spine. Randy hunched in on himself instinctively and clenched his teeth together tightly. What was it with people and being unable to mind their own damn business?

“I honestly don’t know what you see in him. Sort of bright, isn’t he?” Wade dug the metaphorical blade in deeper.

Bright. Try obnoxious, annoying, aggravating-- hell, he’d only met the man twice and that was enough to paint a proper picture in his head.

“What do you know about Goldust’s family?” Randy abruptly changed topics once more and it left Barrett blinking in surprise and floundering.

“Why would I know?” He incredulously replied, “He was out of my league at the time. Never actually fought with him.”

Useless then which meant their talking _thing_ could conclude. The downside to choosing a man that he traded blows with often enough to consider them enemies was that he had to tolerate his presence for longer than a maximum of five minutes. If the Englishman didn't have any actual helpful information to help with his research then Randy didn't need to pretend to make friends.

“I’m going home.” He announced and hunkered down to pick his jacket up and pull it on.

“Wait--hold on now, why’d you ask about Goldust?” Wade hurried over and scrambled to pick his own things up, “D’you think he has something to do with this Stardust fellow?”

Nosy as always (which he should expect given that Barrett’s nose took up almost all of his face). If Randy told him anything he’d go off and blab about it to whomever listened. Which, while helpful when he needed misinformation spread, was not the case currently. He didn't appreciate becoming the center of the gossip mill unless it involved how he ripped into someone or ruined another person's life.

“Come on then, is he his protege or something of the sort?” Barrett easily overtook his pace with his longer legs and halted in front of him, barring his path to his car.

“You know,” Randy began in a falsely cheerful voice, “Punk is back in town.”

For a brief second it looked like Wade’s eyes were going to bulge out of his skull; panicked surprise flickered across his face and drew a bead of sweat down his chin. Randy hadn’t caught wind of Punk since the NXT failure, but he was willing to bet the mercenary was still in town and Wade technically didn't know that. The man had always been good at slipping away like a rat.

“That’s none of your business you know.” Barrett muttered and the irony was rich enough to make Randy smile cruelly.

“Just like it wasn’t your business to talk.”

Undignified silence followed which was as good as an agreement in his books as he was ever going to get. He took a moment to straighten his sleeves, authoritatively brushing off imaginary dust. Wade was at a loss for words which was always a pleasure; the man’s voice was grating.

With nothing further to say Randy brushed past the lankier man and popped open the door to his car. It wasn’t a fancy thing, he’d realized quickly in his younger years that nice cars and superpowers tended to not mix well. What he had now was some used vehicle with torn but comfortable seats, and a sun-striped dashboard. Sometimes the radio didn’t work unless he punched it at just the right angle and the heat tended to make it smell like wet dog for whatever reason, but it was reliable. There was a first aid kit always stashed under the back seats and a few other emergency supplies jammed into a small space in the trunk.

An expensive car would be something Randy could appreciate even now, but he didn’t need the unnecessary attention outside of work or the outrageous bills. Not with the way Hunter paid them.

Barrett had turned to watch him as he reversed to get himself turned around. He didn’t bother acknowledging him again and adjusted his rear view mirror so that he wouldn’t have to look at his sorry face. Even though he’d said he was going home, dinner was on his mind and he figured it wouldn't hurt to take a little time to himself after several weeks of dragging himself through Hunter's idea of a fitting punishment. Besides, he hadn't actually eaten a proper meal in a while now and his body needed some sort of nourishment.

The diner in question was a small but hospitable burger joint. While Randy wasn’t the biggest fan of greasy foods, he found the atmosphere relaxing enough to be able to rest for a little while and actually eat a full meal in front of strangers. If he recalled correctly one of the Bella twins worked there as well--the non-powered one. He always mixed their names up.

Luckily, neither of the girls seemed to be in house tonight which promised at least an hour to wind down. He’d need it if he wanted to be able to even try pretending to sleep tonight. Wade had managed to get under his skin which was both aggravating and mortifying.

“What’ll it be, hun?” An older lady stepped up next to his booth; her expression was tired but amicable enough.

“Just the special.” Randy quietly replied and watched her gnarled fingers scribble across the notebook she carried in hand.

“Drink?” She cocked a colored eyebrow at him, looking down at him from over her half-moon spectacles. 

“Water. Please.” He managed to remember to be polite at the last possible second and earned an entertained smirk from the waitress as she turned on heel and shuffled off.

Randy watched her for a second more for any indication that she may come back. Once he was sure he’d be left alone he wearily brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. By all means he had quite a few years left before he may need to consider retiring, but these days he often felt like he was already done.

Hell, he’d felt like he was done the second Hunter pulled the rug out from under his feet and taught him a valuable lesson in never trusting others and being paranoid at all times when he was younger. Sometimes he really wished he had chosen a different career path but then at the same time a part of him longed for the chase, of police sirens screaming, guns smoking, and the pleasant burn of venom on his tongue. He’d been wild back then, uncontrollable.

Nearly every single person had coined him for crazy and called him a deranged psychopath. Randy had never thought that was true even if he had been a little too enthusiastic with his desire to wreak havoc. Sure, sometimes he’d felt like he could literally hear little voices-- his conscious probably-- so crystal clear in his head that it seemed to be unhealthy, but that wasn’t an indication of being some bloodthirsty murderer with a vendetta towards the entire planet.

Introspection aside, he had more pressing matters to sort out. This Stardust-Goldust thing was getting out of hand. It didn’t matter if it was only a few people who knew, that was already a few people too many. All Randy wanted to do was solve the Goldust mystery. It had started out as research to learn about Stardust, sure, but obviously it had developed into something more important. Probably.

Why did he care so much again?

Oh, right, because he was a sucker for mysteries and finding blackmail information that he could lord over other people. Given that he was surrounded by individuals who could literally read minds or punch metal doors off their hinges, it was difficult to find things that hadn't been passed around the chain.

Not that Stardust was interesting though. Vexing, if he was being generous in descriptions, and confusing too. His line of thought was becoming troublesome; Randy felt his lightened mood dip once more and he heaved a low sigh.

Was it even worth it to keep investigating? Hunter had taken him off the Balor case but all the small time work was constant and unrelenting. There was still hardly any free time and when he did find it, he was too tired to concentrate on more than sitting on his balcony and blearily watching the city’s night life. What would figuring anything out do save for potentially reveal Goldust as a possible halfbreed? Randy didn’t even know yet if there _was_ a connection to Stardust.

Still...the kid’s bright red eyes ringed by a vivid orange stuck in his head. Twice now he’d seen that happen and with both instances Stardust had seemed to know things he shouldn’t. Like Randy was going to hurl himself bodily at him before he’d even gotten the idea. Or that Finn Balor was in the building even though the only people who knew for sure were the NXT.

Fuck.

“Double cheeseburger and onion rings with a side of water.” The waitress appeared at his side again and set his meal down unceremoniously before him.

She left Randy to stare dubiously at the grease slicked sandwich, battling with the decision to take a bite or not. This was what he got for not actually checking what the special was before he ordered. The slices of cheese were in the process of dribbling down to the plate below. Maybe to most people this would appear appetizing but the permeating scent of burnt oil was too strong for his above average senses. Closing his mouth tightly did nothing to stop his plight which was just what he needed.

Randy was considering glaring at the burger until it somehow spontaneously combusted when of all people Ambrose plopped down without warning across from him. If Randy was still capable of being surprised by the younger man perhaps he would’ve flinched. As it was he merely coolly raised his eyebrows in question and didn’t move a muscle.

“You gonna eat that?” Dean asked, a cheeky smile on his face.

“Please, don’t stop on my account.” Randy dryly responded, lowering his hand to cross his arms on the table.

“Can always count on your killer taste-buds.” Ambrose absently commented and slid the plate closer to start chowing down.

“Just because I don’t eat carbs nonstop doesn’t mean I’m picky.”

Dean paused from chewing to pull a disbelieving face at him. It scrunched his eyes up something fierce and with the added chipmunk cheeks he looked ridiculous. Randy couldn’t argue with the other man’s logic though, he did get difficult about food when it came down to it. Ambrose never seemed bothered by smells or tastes when it was fried foods or greasy heartburn meals. 

He watched Dean chomp his way through the food neutrally, not moving when the other man reached a greasy hand over to nab his glass of water and chug it down. Ambrose gave no indication of continuing the conversation which, while annoying, was understandable since the last time they’d been in a room together Randy had had his teeth sunk into his throat and was possibly attempting to kill him. Dean may be impulsive and brash, but he tended to subtly show awareness to the power hierarchy during the oddest of times.

“I’m hoping you didn’t just come here to eat my dinner.” Randy offered and cocked his head.

Dean’s eyes flicked suspiciously at his face and then settled back on the remaining few bites of the burger, a clear giveaway to the smidgen of fear and doubt he was trying to hide. Randy gave him a few moments to collect himself mentally, taking the time to glance around the room and make sure no one was eavesdropping. While he wasn’t the most friendly of people, he knew he’d royally fucked up with his team and needed to make some form of amends. It was a stroke of luck that Ambrose had caved first and saved him the trouble.

“You know I don’t apologize.” Dean finally said, wiping his fingers on a flimsy napkin and clearing his throat awkwardly.

“I wouldn’t of guessed.” And, yes, maybe he was being more of a dick than he needed to, but the other man had earned it.

Dean rolled his eyes but continued on, “I don’t apologize, but, look, I get I shouldn’t of pried. I sure as shit wouldn’t want anyone doin’ that to me.”

The level of self awareness that Ambrose was displaying was impressive given that he never regretted the things he said. Randy relented enough to cease verbally prodding at the other man, pleased by his show of loyalty. That trait was hard to come by in the Authority and, even though he and Dean didn’t get along on the best of days, it was always beneficial to have an ally in their line of business. He’d known Ambrose for only a few years now but the man had proved that despite his foul attitude and narcissism, he was a formidable threat to Randy’s enemies. 

“Paige put you up to this?” Randy set back, the leather of the booth squeaking under his weight.

“Nah, haven’t seen much of her lately. Both of them.” Figures; Hunter would’ve split them up as well to ensure no more mistakes could be made.

“Sore?”

“My throat’s doing so well I could probably out-scream Bo.”

“Please don’t.” Randy quipped and popped his knuckles, relishing the release of tension, “You need anything else or can I go home?”

This was where he and Dean struggled. Talking shit was no big deal but the possible indication of feelings was out of their field of expertise. Randy was a pro at avoiding interacting with people for more than necessary and he was already mentally mapping his escape from having to deal with Dean anymore. He'd wrapped up what had happened between them, there was nothing else to speak of as far as he was concerned.

“Look, I dunno about you but I’m tired of being handed busy work.” Dean heaved a sigh and pushed the not quite empty plate to the side, “You wanna try finding something better?”

So boredom and frustration had drove Ambrose to reaching out. 

“I doubt that Hunter will let us.” Randy countered, drumming his fingers on the table.

“It doesn’t gotta be on the books.” Dean pointed out, “We could do something on our own. We've done that before.”

“Like what exactly?” There wasn’t much that would truly fall out of Hunter’s range and the stuff that did was no better than what he was currently slogging through.

“Like finding _Balor._ ” Dean dropped his volume to keep the words between them; despite this Randy tensed up, anxiously awaiting someone to burst through the door at the verbal admission of going against orders.

“I told Hunter to take me off of that case for a reason.” Randy incredulously replied.

“Nah, see, it sucked before cause’ we had to do it H’s ways. We do it _our_ way and I bet things go better.”

Their way? What the hell was their way?

“The only reason we got to him before was because of Hunter’s connections.” Randy whispered back, words strained, “ _Our way_ is going to get us nowhere.”

“We won’t know until we try!” Dean protested, “Besides, if it’s just you n’ me H won’t notice a thing.”

“Why do you want to do this so badly?” It didn’t add up.

“Just hate when people outrun me. I was supposed to be the guy to track him.” Dean shrugged one shoulder, “He got the jump on me and maneuvered better--drives me insane.” 

Ambrose paused just long enough to make Randy’s gut twist unpleasantly, a feeling of trepidation for what he already knew what the other man was going to say.

“But you know about that, right? It really gets under your skin, makes you unable to concentrate on _anything else._ ”

In Randy’s defense he had just about enough of every single person bringing Stardust up in some way, shape, or form. He couldn’t be blamed for suddenly slamming one hand to brace against the table top and reaching the other across to tightly grip the front of Dean’s shirt and yank him forward. The motion jerked Ambrose so close to his face that he could smell the other’s breath--he was lucky, it seemed Dean had brushed his teeth recently. He was distinctly aware of the fact that the entire diner had gone quiet however, and judging by the smirk on Ambrose’s face he had predicted this.

The last thing he needed was to be kicked out from one of the few places he regarded as neutral grounds. Randy exhaled slowly and forced his hand to loosen from Dean’s top. Without thinking he pulled his battered wallet out and dropped a twenty on the table before pulling himself up and resolutely trudging out of the building. The little chime of the door opening and closing behind him alerted him to the fact that Dean had most definitely followed. It wasn’t in his best interest honestly since Randy wasn’t averse to pummeling him in the parking lot, but he contained his temper enough to fumble for a smoke. 

There was no need to light it-- he rarely did-- but the action helped drain some of the tension from his body. Enough maybe to tolerate Ambrose for a few minutes more. Blessed silence followed his hasty exit broken occasionally by patrons exiting or entering, glancing curiously or warily at them. Randy didn’t mind. The curb was cool and his butt had gone numb a few minutes ago but the change in environment was helping him control himself.

“Look, I don’t really know why I just _feel_ like we should be the ones to find this guy.” Dean stated, frustration coloring his tone, "Like, before Hunter's new lookouts snatch him."

“And do what? Drag him back to base and make him work for us?” Randy neutrally answered, mumbling around the cigarette, "That'd just be doing what those other guys are doing."

Dean shot him a confused but curious look, staring like he wished he could read Randy’s mind. The normally energetic attitude had been lost somewhere along the way which was both unnerving and welcome. He didn’t care for high strung individuals, they made him jumpy.

“Y’know, saying stuff like that could getcha killed.” Ambrose pointed out cautiously.

It was Randy’s turn to shrug, and he did so with a spark of self deprecating humor, “Past the point of caring, I think. And I’d prefer not to be the reason another guy gets roped into this crappy job.”

“Now _that’s_ an attitude I can appreciate.” Dean chuckled, “Bout’ time. I was beginning to think you were becoming some kinda...Triple H 2.0 or something.”

Ambrose made a few mechanical noises and jerky movements which Randy assumed was supposed to indicate a robot. He quashed the spike of animosity at Dean’s words; the other man didn’t know the effect that kind of talk had on his psyche after all.

“So then how about it, big guy? You, me, a coupla afternoons of being Shaggy and Scooby? Maybe an alien or two?”

“Did you not just listen to what I said?” Randy asked, irritated.

“No, I did. I just figured when we find the guy--cause’ we _will_ \--we could do something other than turn him in. Give him a way out or somethin’, I dunno. Fuck with H and mess his plans up, mainly.” Dean blew noisily into his palms and then rubbed them together, "Let's be honest, we've been lookin' for an opportunity like this for a while now, right?"

Randy knew for a fact that he didn’t need to do that. Ambrose was built like a furnace and never really seemed to feel the chill unless it was extreme. 

“Those discussions always involved looking into things a lot more discrete than this.” At this point he was just protesting to protest and Dean seemed to know it too.

“So we don’t get caught.” Dean flapped a hand through the air carelessly, “We’ll be extra careful.”

“I doubt you know the meaning of the word.”

“Guess you’ll have to find out, huh?” A cheeky grin was alight on the man’s face once more, “C’mon old man, don’t tell me you lost all your sense of adventure with your age?”

Mutt.

“Fine.” Randy amended, “But if we get caught you’re on your own.”

“Fair’s fair. _Buuuut_ we won’t get caught.” Dean wiggled a finger to Randy’s shoulder and tapped it while making an audible pop with his mouth.

Randy merely shrugged his arm away in response, “And the other two?”

“We don’t bring em’ unless necessary. Sides’, Paige is still pretty pissed at you. And me.”

Definitely sounded like Paige. Bo had probably been dragged along for the ride, kind of like himself. The urge to complain again was stifled and Randy stood, knees cracking from the sudden movement. Damn, maybe Ambrose was right. Maybe he was losing all his drive as the years went on-- hell, he wasn’t even that old, he was just tired of the same old shit. Dean stood next to him, his own stretches quick and rough compared to Randy’s languid movements. 

“I already got an idea of where this guy might be too!" Ambrose excitedly stated, "Where else does someone go to when they got no where else to run? The _underground_ , duh. I bet you anything he's hiding away somewhere down there." 

"With our luck we'll run into Wyatt territory if we go down there." Randy unenthusiastically replied, the plan sounding less and less appealing as each second passed.

"With _our luck_ maybe we’ll see that Stardust guy again.”

Randy cut his eyes violently towards Dean who held up a hand mockingly in return.

“Just sayin’, I’d like to get another look at him again so I hope the WWE still got our boy on the case. He smelled kinda funny.”

“Is that so?” Randy drawled.

“Yeah...kinda like.” Dean paused and his brow furrowed in a brief lapse of seriousness, “Kinda like Balor actually. That same out of place scent.”

Now that.

_That_ was interesting. 

 

**

 

Stardust awoke with a gasp to his nose profusely bleeding.

The half a second it took his brain to register that he wasn’t asleep and that what his tongue was tasting was blood, was enough time for Cass to startle awake across the room. Stardust was still panting for air and jerkily raising his arm to his face when the taller man half sat up. The coppery taste of blood hit his taste-buds harshly and he could feel fluid leak around his fingers, dripping with wet little plops to his blanket.

“Star?” Cassady’s voice was thick with sleep and rough, “You okay, man?”

It had been WWE’s grand idea to have Cass and Enzo room with Stardust those weeks ago when they'd walked through the front doors. Their argument for it didn’t matter because what _did_ was that he was having to share his living quarters, which were small enough as it was, with two strangers. Normally he could see all his posters of the stars and galaxies that covered his walls and was able to leave things that were more private on his desk, technically out in the open, without having to worry about anyone snooping. Not anymore.

He’d tried to be patient, even asked himself what Cena would do (probably sleep on the floor and give them his bed which Stardust was _not_ about to offer), but nothing could top the overbearing weight of resentment pressing down on him. Somehow the duo had located a mattress despite having virtually no funds to speak of, and were crowded onto it. Enzo had complained loudly and lengthily about how cramped the room was for three guys, but in the end decided that sharing a bed with Cass was better than sleeping on a planet-patterned rug.

Stardust thought they looked ridiculous huddled on their makeshift bed, underneath leopard print sheets. Cass was so big his feet hung off the end and displayed his worn socks, the left of which had a hole that his big toe poked through. Enzo was small enough that he fit between his partner and the wall, somehow still sprawled and spread eagle despite being so crammed into a tight space. Stardust was positive that the man drooled all over Cassady’s shoulder while he slept, and he knew Cass snored like a chainsaw.

Basically, the experience was proving to be terrible and Stardust was beginning to wonder if this would be his villain origin story.

“Stardust?” Cass repeated, looking more alert now though his bed head remained.

“W’hz goin’ on?” Enzo slurred, poking his head up from behind the bigger man’s bulk.

His hair was even worse, an atrocious mess of a scraggly mohawk and shaved patterns. With the way his eyes were having trouble focusing and staying open Stardust doubted he was really registering what was going on. That was fine by him since he was still reeling over a nightmare that he couldn’t remember and the fact that his nose was a faucet.

“Nothin’, Zo’. Go back to sleep.” Cass gently pushed the smaller man back to a laying position and then heaved himself off the mattress.

Enzo protested grumpily, a tangle of sounds and off-hand words that made no sense, but rolled into a better position in the warm spot left behind and was out like a light again instantly. Stardust hadn’t realized he had been sitting still, dumbly grasping his face and staring unblinkingly at the two, until Cass crouched next to his bed.

“Lemme see.” At his lack of response Cassady back-tracked quickly, “That, uh, only if ya’ want me to that is.”

Unable to do much more at the moment, Stardust simply nodded and lowered his hand enough to reveal crusted nostrils and the trails of blood that covered his lips and chin. Cass hesitantly reached a hand over to touch his face, pausing when Stardust instinctively flinched away. Looking did _not_ mean touching.

“Does this happen a lot to ya’?” Cassady quietly asked, lowering his hand to the bed.

“No. Yes.” Stardust grappled with what was reality, “I think? It is a possibility.”

“Jeez man, you’re kinda confusin’, you know that?” Cass exhaled and then looked around until he located a box of tissues. Stardust bristled at the statement, licking his lips and then grimacing at the taste.

“Well _excuse me._ ” He haughtily bit out and Cass softly chuckled.

“Sorry, bud. Just sayin’.” He stood once more and stretched with a yawn, “C’mon. Let’s find a bathroom n’ clean you up.”

“I can do it myself.”

“Yeah maybe when your pupils aren’t the size of dimes.” Cass casually replied.

Stardust blanched--were they really?

The bigger man waited patiently at the door for him to untangle himself from his sheets and stagger to his feet. Oddly, he felt drained, all emotions mostly smeared too much to clearly read. That probably wasn’t a good sign. What sort of dream had he slept through? Was he in some form of shock? Perhaps it had been sleep paralysis or something of the sort, which he had experienced before but few and far in between.

The hallways of the Enforcer’s HQ were either dimly lit or not at all. Missions did happen in the evening all the time as crime didn’t sleep, but there was a specific sector designated for exiting and entering without waking residents or disturbing the peace. The only times those unspoken rules were broken were in moments of true danger--such as when, apparently, CM Punk had been carried in by John. He was still unsure how the man had survived getting his guts shredded into but the entire ordeal wasn’t something he recalled fondly and so he chose not to look too far into it.

Their feet brushed over the tiled floors softly, a gentle noise that lulled some of Stardust’s anxiety. Falling into a rhythm always helped bring him back to the present, especially when he’d had visions. The overlap of timelines was hard for his brain sometimes and resulted in him being unsure if he was still hallucinating or not. The one at the NXT base had been violent and left him shaking afterwards but at the time he’d had no choice but to take action and hope it was real.

There he went again thinking about the incident. Was that good? Bad? Had it left a bigger impact on him than he’d realized?

Perhaps. 

Cass swung the men’s bathroom door open and peeked inside. He scoped out every inch before deeming it safe to go inside. The lights in here were dim too, set to automatically lower in intensity as evening wore on to save power. There was not a single soul inside, just a communal room filled with shower stalls and toilets. Not even water dripped from showerheads which meant no one had been inside for a while.

Cass gestured for him to sit on one of the free benches while he padded over to the single cabinet in the room. Another yawn escaped, cracking his jaw while he ran a hand tiredly over an eye.

Stardust wilted in on himself, wondering how pathetic he looked in the current moment of time. It’d been a long while since someone had offered to help patch him up like this. The last instance had been with Goldust, back before he’d...left.

“I woulda offered the gym’s bathroom but, y’know, some people like ta’ work late. And I figure you don’t want nobody starin’.”

“No, that’s…” Surprisingly thoughtful? Oddly kind? “fine. I _did_ inform you that I could blow my own nose, correct?”

“Ya' might’ve.” Cass replied, distracted but amused.

Was he being teased? Was this friendly banter? The very thought was unnerving.

The other man searched through the shelves, humming to himself every so often. Stardust took the time to blatantly stare at the bruise on the man’s shoulder, just visible from underneath his mop of hair. According to nearly every single WWE member because they were all dirty gossips, Cass and Enzo were fairly rough sparring partners. The WWE had leaped on running them both through basic training and drills at the soonest opportunity. Ryback of all people had offered to work with Cassady and Bryan reportedly trained with Enzo on control.

Daniel was, according to Natalya, one of the few stable nature users around. When pressed the short statured man had only cheerfully said something about meditation, healthy eating habits, and exercising control over his emotions.

What, did he expect Stardust to believe he had a _temper_ of all things? Hardly. Daniel was one of the mellowest people he knew.

He wasn’t sure if Enzo and Cassady’s training was going well per se. But despite all of Enzo’s complaints and the myriad of bruises patterning their bodies, the two hadn’t left yet. They seemed determined to learn anything that could help them. Stardust had to admire their persistence, if anything. 

“What are you looking for?” He finally asked around his hand.

“Some kinda bandaid.” Cass mumbled back, eyes narrowed in concentration.

“Why would I require that?” 

“Well you’re bleedin’ cause’ of that play fight wit’ Naomi yesterday, right?”

“No!” Stardust protested a little too loudly, voice bouncing around the enclosed space.

Cass finally turned and squinted at him, “What? But I thought she kicked ya’ right in the nose.”

She definitely had and he’d ached something awful afterwards, but his face was healing. Slowly.

“It’s just a nosebleed.” He complained.

Again Cassady crouched before him, this time not making any movements towards his face. Stardust stared suspiciously down at him, his hand on the bench gripping the plastic tighter.

“Look, I know ya’ really don’t like showin’ your face, but can I just make sure?” Cass’s tone was gentle, the sort you’d use to calm a panicked animal.

Though he was torn over shielding his bloodied face further, Stardust forced his hand down slowly after a few seconds of hesitation. Seeing the amount dripping off of his palm and fingers was unsettling, a stark contrast in color next to the paleness of the floor and his own skin. Cassady didn’t comment on his lack of facial paint and settled his gaze completely on his nose. Even still Stardust felt antsy under his scrutiny and counted every second that passed.

“I think you’re right.” Cass concluded but then barreled on before Stardust could retort, “But I think we should check wit’ the on call doc ta’ make sure. Your eyes still look kinda funny.”

At the second mention of his eyes Stardust’s gaze involuntarily flicked up over the man’s shoulder to stare into a mirror. His reflection stared back and he realized just how unsettling he appeared. It wasn’t even due to the blood staining his chin and hand, it was indeed his eyes. The pupils were blown so wide he could barely see the iris, but the hints of color around them were distinctly red. 

A cold chill traveled down his spine--had he had a vision while asleep? That was impossible, he would’ve woken up sooner!

“C’mon, pal.” Cassady started to reach to clap him on the arm and then thought better of it, “Let’s go see so we can go back ta’ bed.”

“I can go by myself.” He desperately repeated his earlier protests.

The taller man peered curiously at him, expression unreadable. Stardust bit back the urge to spit curses, he’d forgotten in all the rush that Cass was more perceptive than his partner in crime. All of his stuttering and bumbling masked the fact the he was quite intelligent. It had only taken a few days for him to figure that particular fact out and he was troubled that it’d slipped his mind.

“Nah, I’m already up, right?” Cass shot him a slight grin as he stood, “Might as well.”

Stardust found himself being escorted, albeit very politely, by the man while he kept toilet paper jammed against his nose. By now he could feel the bleeding had all but stopped, but he kept the tissue in place just in case. It was less to stop the bleeding and more to hopefully shield at least half his face in case they passed anyone else.

The doctor’s office was located near the gym and near constantly louder facilities so Stardust found himself enveloped in an uncomfortable silence as they began the long trek. Thoughts and paranoid ideas whizzed around his head; nothing made sense. He’d never had a vision in his dreams before, not that he could recall.

“So where ya’ from?” Cassady suddenly inquired and interrupted his montage of raving thoughts.

“What?” Stardust stared in confusion up at him and Cass glanced back at him briefly with another small grin.

“Like, were ya’ born here? You know Zo’ and I are from Jersey and I figure we should try to get ta' know each other since we're roommates now and all.”

Ah, that was a difficult and personal question.

“Around.” He quickly shot back and this time pretended he couldn’t see the other man’s look of bemusement. They walked a few more feet before Cassady spoke again.

“That’s pretty nice. I wish I coulda traveled more. Ain’t never been anywhere but home n’ here though.”

“Unfortunate.” Stardust half-heartedly muttered back.

“You got any family?” Was waking up at one in the morning the normal time for people to push at private information?

“...None. Yourself?”

“Eh, none worth mentionin’. Zo’s kinda like my only family. We been t’rough a lot together.” Cass had a fond look on his face, reminiscing probably. 

“You mean you aren’t…” Stardust started before he could stop himself, earning a curious look.

“Ain’t what?”

“Well, you know.” He shifted uncomfortably on his feet and pressed the toilet paper tighter, “Together?”

The question earned a startled laugh from Cass, the sound interrupting the near silence so explosively that it made Stardust jump in place.

“What?!” He demanded, “Did I say something wrong?”

“No, no, nothin’. It’s just.” Cassady paused from walking and Stardust did too after a few more steps, “I seen you taunt guys wit’ _pelvic thrusts_ and ya’ can’t say dating?”

Stardust reddened near immediately, regretting once more that he wasn’t wearing his face paint. At least then no one would be able to tell when he was blushing.

“That’s different!” He protested, “Those are--spars!”

“Okay, okay, chill before your head explodes.”

“My head would not explode.” Stardust vehemently grumbled, “It is physically impossible to be triggered into an explosion of that magnitude by overheated skin.”

The good cheer in Cassady’s eyes changed into something else that he couldn’t identify. It had him on guard near instantly again and he self consciously crumpled the tissue in his sweating hand. He'd messed up, how had he messed up?

“What?” He inquired once more.

“You’re kind of a strange dude.”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, wit’out the paint n’ stuff you look normal, but the way you talk makes you sound like an alien.” Cass mused, all tact discarded.

Stardust gaped openly for a second and then turned on heel to keep walking. Cass was following and didn’t seem to be suffer from any regret over his choice in words.

“Are ya’?”

“Am I what?” Irritation bleed into his tone.

“An alien?” Cass simply responded as he shuffled alongside him.

“No.” Stardust frostily answered.

“S’fine if you are. Zo’ and I think aliens are cool. He’s always goin’ on about how their girls gotta be hot but, I mean, how would he know? He ain’t never seen one.”

Cassady seemed content to ramble to himself and so Stardust allowed it, not wanting to further the conversation in the slightest. Everything about the topic was touchy and he knew there was a prime possibility of slipping up.

“So then are you some kinda halfie?”

It took all his self control not to give any sort of indication that the question bothered him more than the last. The term stung, more than anyone would ever know, but he wasn’t going to give any piece of information away--especially not that controversial piece. He’d succeeded so far in shielding it from all: the WWE, NXT, and Authority, and intended on keeping it that way.

“Zo’ says it’s _unnatural._ ” Cass drew the word out, “He thinks it’s kinda like bestiality.”

“What?!” Stardust finally squawked, turning his head just enough to stare up at Cass incredulously with wide eyes.

“I don’t!” Cassady laughed again, “Zo’s just more opinionated.”

That wouldn’t be the word Stardust would choose to describe him but he didn’t argue.

“Jeez, finally.”

They stopped before a door marked simply with a cross symbol and Cass knocked only once before turning the handle and swinging it in cautiously. It was rude etiquette but Stardust wanted this whole experience to be over so he could forget it ever happened and move on. He’d take Naomi kicking him in the head a hundred times over this and he'd definitely take a cross doctor distracting Cassady.

“Cass--Stardust?” Natalya of all people gasped, perched comfortably in a chair on the other side.

She quickly placed all her files to the side, a messy array of folders mismatched with sticky notes, and jumped to her feet. Cass stepped to the side and left him defenseless--he wondered how he’d never noticed the mean streak in the man before. Maybe it was easy to overlook, just like his smarts. The coward.

“What happened?” Natalya stared accusingly at Cass like it was his fault.

The bigger man floundered, unable to handle the woman’s fiery disposition. Stardust was tempted to leave him like this just as means of petty revenge, but he also didn’t care for being talked about like he was some sort of helpless child.

“It was just a _nosebleed._ ” How many more times was he going to have to say this before people understood?

“How’d you get a nosebleed?” Natalya worriedly peeled the tissue away from his nose and Stardust didn’t fight her.

He awkwardly shrugged, just as lost as the rest of them. Given that it was turning into fall around the city, he was willing to believe that perhaps his nose just grew dry. It didn’t really explain the amount of blood, but stranger things had happened. The woman made a concerned tsking noise, gripping his chin and turning his head this way and that to examine the injury from all possible angles.

“I was jus’ sayin’ his eyes looked kinda funky.” Cassady volunteered the information.

“His eyes…?” Natalya muttered, staring intently into them, “They look fine to me.”

“What?” Cass stepped closer again and leaned over Natalya to gaze as well and his expression went slack with surprise.

“You sure you saw correctly?” She questioned, clinically checking Stardust over completely now.

“Yeah! You saw too, right?” 

Stardust avoided his expectant gaze, trailing his own to the opposite side of the room where all the beds sat. He wanted to crawl back into his own and avoid talking to anyone again about personal information for at least the remainder of the night. Obviously it was a situation being blown out of proportion just because people around him seemed to think he was incompetent. Enzo and Cass hadn’t even been a part of the WWE for more than two weeks and they were already in the same habit of either ignoring him or treating him like an idiot. He was _tired_ of this.

“No.” He delicately replied, “I didn’t see anything.”

Natalya nodded at that, still poking and prodding at him experimentally, fingers firmly trailing up his neck and around his forehead. It wasn’t a massage but it still felt nice, a steady pressure that reminded him just how tense and sore he’d been lately without reprieve. Cassady was keeping his gaze trained on him, suspicion clouding his expression, but Stardust continued to studiously ignore him.

“What are you doing working so late?” He masterfully changed the conversation.

“Oh.” Natalya sighed and pulled back, tiredly pushing an errant lock of hair behind her ear, “I’m waiting on a phone call.”

“Is everythin’ a’right?” Cass let the initial subject go in lieu of checking in on the woman.

“Yeah! As fine as they can be.” She mused, “One of my--partners is just going through some tough things right now.”

Neither of them were brave enough to push the ambiguous subject, the implications of Natalya having a life outside of the Enforcer’s too odd to comprehend. Although did that make them odder for not having anything besides the WWE? It didn't escape his attention that despite Cassady’s earlier predilections to being fine with pushing Stardust’s boundaries, he seemed to respect other people’s more. 

“Anyways, you’re good to go and we really need to stop meeting this way.” She smiled encouragingly at him, “Is there anything else?”

“Yeah, you gonna train wit’ us ever?” Cass joked, easing the tension in the room.

“Y’know, I was actually thinking of trying that out soon. You guys are settled in now, right?” She slyly asked.

“Yeah! I hear you’re one tough cookie!”

“Well the rumors are true.” Natalya primly replied, “And I look forward to kicking _both_ of your butts soon.”

“Why me too?” Stardust whined loudly, and despite all earlier aggravations, couldn’t help but feel genuinely pleased when he drew laughter out of the both of them.

It was easy to fall into rhythm with the both of them it seemed, even if he was still suspicious of some more than others. Perhaps there was potential here, something like friends to be made. The encouraging thought was enough to give him strength to ignore his reflection in the small mirror placed beside one of the beds, his own eyes staring accusingly back at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: be careful where you go looking.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say in advance i'm exhausted and this is 24 pages and trust me I can't believe it either. Also THANK YOU for all the wonderful comments I've received so far!! They seriously are the reason I keep writing new chapters for this messy story. :^)
> 
> I hope ya'll will enjoy this chapter and get pumped for what it's bringing to the table.

Enzo hit the mat with a strangled squawk.

Behind his sprawled form Naomi slowly lowered her leg, a triumphant look in her eyes. It wasn’t really a victory to celebrate, Stardust mused, if the opposing party had lost every single round for over a week straight. He was positive that Naomi was supposed to be holding back since Enzo was considered a beginner, but like with anything that pertained to fighting, she did not. Daniel clapped his hands encouragingly from the sidelines, worriedly smiling at Enzo as the man wheezed for air and didn’t move to stand.

“Good hustle!” Bryan called, “Let's try that again--this time remember to break the fall with _anything_ besides your head.”

“M’ tryin'.” Enzo grumbled, too soft for Daniel to hear but then raising his voice, “She hits like a demon.”

He pulled himself to his feet unsteadily, still breathing hard from the kick to his chest. Despite Enzo and Cass claiming to already have “street smarts” or something of that nature, Enzo especially had proved himself to be not so talented at combat situations. They possibly had more experience in random brawls with your average person, but when it came to trained professionals who could summon strange abilities, they were blatantly out of their element.

It didn't help that the veterans agreed Enzo especially needed to be training with other people who had his specific branch of mutation. The only other two who dealt with nature-based powers thus far in the Enforcers were Naomi and Bryan, so options were limited. Stardust had noticed Amore becoming less hyped and more grumpy over the last few days. Though, if he were repeatedly being smashed headfirst to the floor without end, he’d probably be touchy as well.

Cass was faring better as he appeared to be more naturally inclined to handling violent situations. Some people were just born fighters and excelled at picking things up. The taller man wisely kept his mouth shut about certain topics however, given the way Enzo limped around the building these days more often than not. Ryback had certainly taken a shine on him and Cassady always seem to enjoy his training sessions.

There was another resounding thump as Enzo was again knocked flat on his back, this round even shorter than the last. Stardust glanced over the weights he was lifting, relishing the workout burn. The man was spread eagle on the floor and his face was slowly turning a blotchy shade of red either from embarrassment or lack of air.

“That's it!” Enzo snarled and hopped to his feet to make his way over to the section Stardust was currently in, “Sparrin’ time over! I'ma do somethin’ that'll actually help if you guys need me!”

Daniel was at a loss for words, and he visibly looked like he'd rather be doing anything else besides calming Amore down. The gym was empty enough for the few occupants to track Enzo’s progress to a treadmill, slow and pained. Naomi snorted dismissively and flicked her loose hair over her shoulder.

“A quitter--should have guessed.”

“What’d you say?” Enzo froze and peered balefully over his shoulder.

“If that's all it takes to make you give up, then you should’ve never joined.” She answered, hands on hips.

A low hum buzzed angrily around the room as his temper flared. Stardust instinctively inched a few steps away and clenched the weights in his grasp tighter. It was perfect that the two decided to squabble again the second that Cass left the room. Their arguments always ended explosively, often accompanied by crackling bolts of electricity or icy gusts. He didn't want to be caught in the crossfire for a third time (the first two resulting in some impressive burns that had Natalya up in arms).

“This is getting boring, Enzo.” Naomi sneered, “You either learn to control your temper tantrums or you can quit and go find a different job.”

“Guys--” Daniel tried.

“Maybe _you_ need ta’ learn how to actually work wit’ a guy instead a’ just usin’ me as a punching bag!”

The lights flickered overhead and Stardust anxiously looked up, expecting to see tendrils of electricity winding their way around the ceiling tiles. Likewise, the few fans in the room were changing from helpful breezes to numbingly cold. He carefully set his weights down and rubbed his arms, waiting for Bryan to intervene and end the fight early. Preferably before he had to scurry out to safety.

Daniel stepped over, held up placatingly, “C’mon guys, we talked about this, right? Don't let your negativity control you.”

“She started it!” Enzo complained, “Sides’, shouldn't she be pro already since she's been here so long?”

Daniel moved between them before Naomi could snap anything back, hovering in the middle of their standoff. It was a dangerous spot to be in and Stardust didn't envy his job.

“Some elements are harder to keep under wraps, Enzo. Both you and Naomi have very volatile branches.” He spoke slowly and calmly, deliberately staying relaxed next to their tensed stances.

“It’s not ever going to get easy.” Daniel truthfully stated, “It’s how it is when people have strong but wild powers.”

Strained silence followed his explanation. Enzo looked like he wanted to argue further but hesitated, mulling over the other man's words. Naomi pointedly looked away from the two and marched over to her bag, pulling a water bottle out and gulping from it. The plastic frosted over where her hand touched and the water inside began to solidify.

“Whatever.” Enzo muttered and continued to the nearest treadmill, throwing himself into the exercise.

Daniel slumped, disappointedly looking between his pupils. The air had, at least, stopped crackling with energy and the nearby fans ceased to spray ice, warming to room temperature. Stardust wished he had chosen a better time to conduct his daily exercises, regretting his choice further when Bryan made his way over to him. It wasn't that he disliked Daniel at all, not even a little against all odds. He just didn't know what to say about the painfully apparent elephant in the room to ease his mind which is what the man looked like he was wanting. 

Daniel beckoned with his head for him to follow and so Stardust did, reluctantly leaving his safe spot behind. He lead him to an adjacent room; it was never really clear how it was used, containing an unused whiteboard and random supplies in it for as long as Stardust had joined. Bryan closed the door enough to only leave a crack and turned towards him, expression morphing to full out distress.

“Look, Stardust.” Bryan slowly started and rubbed the back of his neck anxiously, “I know you're probably confused about why I'm, uh, talking to you.”

“Indeed.” Stardust confirmed.

“Right, well, if you hadn't noticed Naomi and Enzo are... having some difficulties.”

That was an understatement. He was fairly certain his expression said as such.

“Yeah I've been trying to think of a way to make them get along but... nothing is working.” The frustration in Bryan’s voice grew, “So John came and talked to me about this because I'm supposed to, I don't know, be the _boss_ in all of this.”

This still didn't reveal why Bryan had pulled him to the side. In social terms Stardust was the last person the man should be conferring with. If anything that was what Cena was for, or, as Stardust had often thought before, they should use a chunk of their funds for a therapist. Heaven knows they needed it. However, Daniel was staring up at him hopefully as though he expected him to vomit pure gold.

“You found these guys, right? Uh, Enzo and Cass?” Daniel asked, “And you met their boss, Punk, at the NXT hideout?”

Really, he regretted ever being dragged along for that particular plot twist. If it wasn't antagonism over his involvement in a non-beginners mission, it was the idea that he magically had cosmic secrets to solve all mercenary-related issues. Which, well, he had _some_ reality defying knowledge but briefly witnessing futures where his life was in danger didn't count.

“Ah…” He hesitated, eyes darting around the room and wishing he could find the answers written there, “Perhaps a team building exercise?”

That's what people did when they had troubles with each other, wasn't it? He’d watched a lot of movies and, while he didn't want to brag, he’d learned some interesting social etiquette from them that other people seemed to forget. Such as trust falls and what not-- nothing brought people together quite like nearly slamming onto the floor.

Daniel took to running a hand through his messy hair frustratedly, “Like what? Sparring and training is all I have time for-- I can't watch them all the time.”

That was true. Outside of the gym Enzo and Naomi avoided each other like the plague, perfectly content to minimize their time with each other as much as possible. Since their first spat even Jimmy had taken to giving Amore the evil eye-- which usually resulted in Cassady getting righteously angry in return. If things continued Stardust had no doubt that people would start to pick sides (even though absolutely no one else had business involving themselves).

“Maybe send them on another sweep?” It was how they'd met after all.

Daniel snorted though he didn't sound amused in the slightest, “They're not allowed back in the combat field until approved by at least three Enforcers.”

Apparently Naomi nearly turning herself into an ice sculpture wasn't safe and neither was Enzo causing electric explosions purely with his body. Who would've guessed?

The fact remained, however, that without the option of the usual field work he was at a loss of what else they could do outside of playing video games to battle for dominance. Despite Stardust’s frankly horrifically quick admission to high-level situations purely by accident, he wasn't aware of what else the WWE really did. If there were other divisions no one had filled him in on them.

“Could--” He began while Daniel paced restlessly around him, but was interrupted by distant angered shouting.

The smaller man looked briefly terrified and then was off like a shot. He vanished around the corner faster than Stardust could blink. The echo of his footsteps rang through the corridor and he poked his head through the doorway to peep cautiously in the direction Bryan took off. It was unclear what the distant yelling was, however he had a good idea. A worryingly loud metal groan followed with a defeaning crash. He had to bite the bullet.

The gym was a disaster zone. One of the overhanging lights lay smashed on the ground, glass cracked and shape warped. Naomi was being held back by an unknown woman who was yelling at her to calm down, and likewise Cass had literally picked up Enzo to keep him away from the irate heroine. Daniel stood between the two parties, distressed, and picked his way carefully through the glass. Stardust was going to go out on a limb and guess Enzo might be the reason for the scorch marks on the ceiling.

Naomi and Enzo were indecipherable due to both screeching loudly at the top of their lungs at each other. Everything was far too loud, loud enough to have Stardust cringing and considering backing out the door and to safety. His progress was halted by the hard chest of none other than Cena who took in the scene with something akin to awe and shocked disappointment.

Stardust stepped to the side, wisely drawing himself out of the war path.

“What the _hell_ is going on here?!” John hollered, cutting off the fighting duo mid sentence.

A curse word from the face of the Enforcers-- things were definitely serious. Great.

Cass gently set Enzo down, a slow movement that still drew Cena's attention. The man was fully frustrated and Cassady cringed underneath the weight of it. For a second John struggled with finding words, choosing to rub at his head in agitation while his mouth opened and closed. The woman holding Naomi back, or at least trying to, scoffed and released the other to step forward. She had courage, Stardust had to give her that.

He wouldn't want to willingly involve himself in this.

“John, are you really gonna let this keep goin’?” She snapped, whipping a hand through the air before crossing her arms and cocking a hip, “Sure, the cat fighting was whatever, but _property damage?!_ ”

Cena winced at the octave her voice approached, and reluctantly turned towards her.

“Carmella--”

“Don't you Carmella me!” She hissed back and looked like she was itching to jam her finger into his chest or throat, “I don't care who these new guys are or what they do, they either learn some manners or hit the road!”

“Sorry, who are you?” Cass switched his attention to the woman, disgruntled with the sudden addition.

“What, are ya’ deaf?” She demanded, drawing a more irritated look from the taller man.

“Look--”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Enzo abruptly intercepted and slid in front of his partner, “Cass, please. I mean, ya’ can't just talk to a classy lady like that.”

“ _Classy?_ ” Cass echoed incredulously.

John had a hand over his eyes. It was an emotion that Daniel appeared to be mirroring while he checked Naomi to ensure she was unhurt. Carmella eyed the shorter man with distaste, unimpressed by Enzo’s declaration.

“Yeah, _classy._ ” Enzo gave Cass a significant look, “She's got somethin’ to say, let her talk.”

Cass was spluttering in his partner’s wake and watched in disbelief as Amore sidled up to Carmella. If Stardust had to guess what Enzo’s body language equated to, he’d have to say it was similar to a 12 year old flirting. Or trying to. He’d seen worse people get further.

“Who are you?” Carmela reluctantly questioned.

“Name’s Enzo Amore. An’ you got one of the prettiest names I ever heard.”

Now Stardust was rather wishing he could sink through the floor. Anything to get away from this desperately awkward situation.

“Gee,” Carmela dryly responded, “Thanks. Anyways John, you gonna get them a leash or what?”

“ _Please._ ” Naomi cut in and shot a dark look in the men's direction.

“Well if I'd known you were inta that--” Enzo started, a sneer in place on his own face.

“ _Okay._ ” Bryan raised his voice now, cheeks reddened and matching the color in his beard, “Let's all just... calm down.”

“Training not going so well?” Cena asked and eyed Daniel critically.

Tension ran high in the training room, atmosphere thick with it. Stardust shifted from foot to foot, spotting his dropped weights in the corner of his vision. The mirrors lining a section of the wall were flecked with old sweat and smudged from various people's handprints. He wanted to walk back over to the place he'd been comfortable before, sneakers squeaking on the mat while he contemplated his options. Naomi shot him a dangerous side eye and he smiled in what he hoped was a friendly manner back.

Everyone was a critic.

“We just need some other exercises to help. Something to encourage _teamwork._ ” Daniel raised his voice to emphasize.

Enzo and Naomi both lost some of their bravado when they were brought back to the reality of the situation. Cena nodded minutely and looked between the group gathered. 

“Well they're not goin’ inta the field.” Carmella voiced and remained unaffected by both Naomi and Cass’s dirty looks.

“Teamwork building, huh.” John murmured, gaze sliding over to Stardust. Whatever he saw in his face gave him an idea because he brightly smiled. Stardust scrunched his own up in return, twisted in confusion.

“The PR division.” Cena announced, rubbing his hands together.

“What's the PR division?” Enzo asked, one hand massaging his bruised hip. Cass glanced down at the action with concern, apparent in his desire to get the smaller man checked out for bumps and bruises.

“Public relations.” John announced cheerfully, “This afternoon we have a meeting with a school to promote an anti-bullying campaign.”

Cass and Enzo visibly wilted at the notion, no excitement conjured from the statement.

“I'm sure Carmella would _love_ to take you to a long.”

“What?!” Carmella yelped, “I can't babysit them!”

“Babysit?” Cass growled.

“We're in!” Enzo announced, and refused to acknowledge the betrayed look Cassady shot him.

“We are, are we?” Cass grumbled.

“Yeah! I mean... for the kids n’ stuff.” Enzo hopefully glanced at Carmella, “Cuz, uh, y’know, _education_ is important.”

Naomi snorted, “Really turning a new leaf there, Amore.”

“Actually,” Daniel thoughtfully stroked his beard, “This could be a good thing. But instead of Cass going we send Naomi with Enzo.”

Near instantly the two were blurting out garbled protests, undecipherable from the other with how frantic and offended both were. Daniel took it all in stride, allowing the words to wash over him with nothing more than a peaceful smile in return. If Stardust was being honest it looked like Bryan was getting a kick out of this, possibly allowing himself a smidgen of revenge after so many harrowing training sessions.

“Uh, no, I don’t wanna be alone with these two.” Carmella shook her head, “That’s bad press waiting to happen.”

“So you’ll take a third person for damage control.” Cena shrugged and then clapped a hand onto Stardust’s shoulder, “Luckily for you I know just the guy.”

Everyone quieted to stare judgingly at Stardust. He could feel all appreciation he’d previously held for Cena trickling down the metaphorical drain while he was forced to withstand several unimpressed expressions.

“...Really?” Carmella deadpanned, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Really really.” John confirmed, “Trust me, he’s pretty good at handling bad situations.”

Carmella’s eyes swiveled back to him and he swallowed awkwardly and then held a sweaty hand out for her to shake. It wasn’t accepted, merely considered with a curled lip and thoroughly underwhelmed attitude.

This was how he found himself in a car with Naomi and Enzo and carted off towards a school, marveling at the idea of being near an educational facility again after so long. He had to find some sort of silver lining to survive the afternoon.

The lower district of the city was spread everywhere, however the highest concentration was gathered directly above the infamous underground; a massive maze of interlocking buildings and cramped walkways. Despite the name, only half of the territory actually dipped below the streets of the city, while the other half remained above. Supposedly there was such a stark contrast that walking from the downtown of any district into the unsafe territory was like entering a completely new country. Streets and main areas were usually kept clean enough but the entrances to the underground were coated in decades of grime that no amount of scrubbing would ever be able to wipe away. All buildings were so tightly packed and dilapidated in their own way that colors seem to be connected by a pallet separate from the of their city.

_Supposedly._

As it was the gradual dip in cleanliness and increase in houses with boarded up windows, or apartment complexes with gaggles of adults hanging around outside to stare suspiciously at unknown passer bys, was enough to make Stardust antsy. Changing environments always put him on edge and while they weren't driving into the underground, they were heading to a location fairly close by.

“So much for company rides.” Enzo grumbled from the cramped back seat of Naomi's car.

Stardust had made sure to call shotgun on their way out of the base, and didn't regret it now. It was a relief to rest his head on the cool window of the passenger seat with his legs stretched out while Amore practically curled into a ball amidst the various junk in the back. He would have never taken Naomi for a messy person but he'd been proved wrong. The woman eyed Enzo disdainfully through her rear view mirror for only a second, before turning her attention back to the road.

He and Amore had very little information given to them outside of the bits Cena and Carmella had mentioned, and the ambiguous quips Naomi made about previous experiences. He wasn't entirely sure why the woman was so tight lipped about the show that was PR--he wondered if she just didn't like the teens more than anything. While that was somewhat understandable (Stardust had never in his existence been able to communicate with teenagers), he couldn't help but compare her tense grip on the wheel and stony expression to what he’d witnessed before an actual fight. It wasn't easing his own paranoid visions of what they were to expect from the youths.

Enzo, too, had caught on to Naomi's oddly at-arms behavior despite his normally oblivious personality. Sure, the man was intent on vocalizing his umbrage the entire ride, but Stardust noticed the nervous side glances he gave to the back of Naomi's seat. Both men were dying to learn what the woman knew and they were both being obscenely obvious about it.

A structure loomed in his peripheral, a beast of a building that had just enough space around it to include some sort of parking lot and a dried up grass field which he assumed was used for sports. There was an aged sign next to the only drive-in entrance to the school that declared some sort of soccer game with a rival team, as well as mandatory parent-teacher conferences. Further in, and lining the front parking spot, were several run down buses. Any cars in the cramped lot had to be either staff or their own people as the designated area looked like it couldn't hold much else.

Naomi skillfully eased her own vehicle into one of the few spaces left and then cut the engine. She made no attempt to open her door and move however, and so Stardust only slowly unbuckled himself and then watched her carefully. They wanted them to come in full gear to this thing; he felt a tad ridiculous sitting in Naomi’s cramped car, the air stifling despite how cool it was outside, in his full outfit. His chair squeaked under his weight as he shifted, catching on whatever shiny material his clothes were made of. Enzo unbuckled in the backseat, a feat which required him to navigate the strap around junk carelessly piled to the side.

The movement caused miscellaneous papers and trash to crinkle loudly and snapped Naomi out of her thoughts. She exhaled loudly and leaned her forehead against the wheel, eyes closed. Enzo openly gawked at her, switching his gaze eventually to stare at Stardust with wide-eyed confusion. He shrugged, not wanting to disrupt whatever this was and risk drawing ire.

“They don't like us.” Naomi spoke up suddenly but didn't move. She could only be referring to the kids; Stardust frowned now, not quite sure where to take this.

“Why the hell not?” Enzo questioned,”We're, like, superheroes n’ stuff. Isn’t that every kids dream?

Naomi snorted, a humorless sound that he was slowly growing accustomed to hearing when she wasn't happy with the situation. Amore looked offended by her flippant disregard to his response and, after taking a moment to collect himself, he leaned forward to brace an arm on the cup holders between the front seats. The plastic groaned but didn't give way underneath his weight.

“What's so funny about that?!” Amore demanded with more force than Stardust thought was necessary, “Kids deserve to have role models!”

The subject must be personal given the way the smaller man's face flushed unattractively in his bout of anger. In the confines of the car Enzo’s voice sounded ten times louder than usual and it was enough to make Stardust inch back, spine pressed against the handle of the door uncomfortably. Naomi finally sat up, though her face was pinched with annoyance and something else.

“Do you know what the WWE even does?” She snapped.

Amore deflated for a beat, floundering for an answer, “Y’know, hero stuff. Like savin’ kids and runnin’ into burning buildings.”

“If you ran into flames without proper protection you’d perish.” Stardust piped up and Enzo rolled his eyes towards the sky.

“The last time we willingly did stuff like that was when the Enforcers was first established.” Naomi condescendingly shot back but then her tone turned more troubled, “These days we just find the ‘bad guys’ and fight.”

Amore huffed and flopped back. He landed awkwardly against a random object and winced, reaching back to pull it out from behind him and rub the sore spot with his other hand.

“So, what, ya’ tryin’ to say we're just glorified nannies?” He asked grumpily.

“Stardust,” Naomi bluntly switched her attention to him, “in all the time you've been here where have your duties taken you?”

An odd question.

“Well... to the central locations of each division, I suppose.”

“Is this goin’ somewhere? Cuz we gotta be inside in, like, five minutes.”

“My _point,_ is that even the sweeps around the city involve staying in certain parameters.” Naomi grit out, “Meaning we never step foot into the underground.”

The implications of her words were sinking in, at least for him. Stardust took in the shoddy exteriors of every building around them-- not as crumbled as back alley hideouts but weighed by something different. Perhaps poverty and negligence.

“We're not even in the underground yet!” Enzo argued.

“But we're directly next to it.” Stardust quietly added. He must have said the right thing because Naomi looked serious but satisfied.

“Anything within a certain radius of the underground has basically been abandoned for years. John and Carmella have been trying to change that, but…” She looked out her windshield, “We haven't helped these people. We still don't. And now we have to go in there and talk about how the Enforcers are good and shake hands.”

Her tone was bitter. Stardust tried not to think of how many times she’d had to take the mantle when it came to publicity stunts like this; it didn't matter in wake of how miserable it made her.

“But--but why _wouldn’t_ we watch this place more?” Enzo's spluttered, also uneasy at the new information.

Naomi sighed and grabbed the handle to her door, the lever clicking and metal hinges squealing as she shoved it open. The cold air filtered in near immediately and raised goosebumps on Stardust’s uncovered biceps. He wished offhandedly that he had thought to bring a coat like the other two, but opened his own door nevertheless and stepped out. While he stretched he could hear Enzo clamor into the parking lot, a loud production next to their own. Naomi locked the vehicle with a practiced motion and scanned her surrounding environment intently.

“People think we're invincible.” She's solemnly began, “Which, sure, that's what we want. The truth is I think we can’t risk the gang activity and crime levels around here. No one actually says so, but our numbers are strained lately.”

So there was no one to spare on the most dangerous piece of the city, or nobody who wanted to venture in by themselves. Which is why they had to pull a PR stunt like this and talk to teens who probably resented them. Perfect. Enzo kicked at a pebble morosely, hands shoved in his pockets. All three of them didn't want to move and deal with whatever came next but Naomi waved her hand and took off into a purposeful stride.

“Come on. We got team building to do.”

 

*

 

“And so, that's why we have decided to really enforce this anti-bullying campaign.” Carmella excitedly spoke to her mic, pacing across the small stage in attractive but professional pumps, “We know it can be hard so we wanna help however we can.”

The auditorium, or maybe a gymnasium, was larger on the inside then he'd initially guessed. There were rows upon rows of fold-out chairs crammed into the room. Everywhere he looked he saw unsmiling faces and undisguised teenage disrespect. The kids were silent throughout the entire presentation and watched only because of the numerous tired staff members standing around the sides. All the adults were shifting restlessly, some even checking their watches as though they were willing time to pass by faster. Stardust wished it would too.

The hour long presentation wasn’t overtly a train wreck but more subtly uncomfortable. He felt misplaced, a missionary preaching gospel to audiences who only felt resentment from a lack of connection. It was awkward in the way that suffocating was. Long ago he'd already started sweating to the side of the stage, dripping under the heat of the spotlight that never wavered. Enzo and Naomi weren’t faring any better, though Naomi had a more practiced poker face. Amore kept haltingly adjusting his stance, trying to remain upright in what he must have hoped was an inspiring pose but failing miserably. Between their own respective signs of discomfort and Carmella frantically trying to reach out to teens who didn't want anything to do with them, it was enough to make him realize he never wanted to do anything like this again.

He'd never dislike children even if he'd never gotten the hang of interacting with them. But this, this was torture.

“Any questions?” Carmella brightly smiled, this time with teeth, “ _Anyone?_ ”

The way her gaze desperately moved around the room made Stardust want to wince from second hand embarrassment. Momentarily it looked like no one was going to speak up and leave her to the dangerous open waters. Then, a skinny arm raised into the air somewhere around the middle rows. Carmella locked onto it eagerly, greedily pointing out the individual.

“Yes?”

The girl that stood had dark, deep eyes that roiled with turmoil, enough to clue Stardust in on the fact that this wasn't going to go well. Students turned in their chairs, craning their necks to watch the girl with interest. She lowered her hand and defiantly stared up at the stage.

“Why do you even care?” She asked.

Stardust’s stomach dropped. He could spot Naomi tensing ever so slightly but she didn't look surprised by the question and neither did Carmella. Both women were resigned the topic, which meant they knew that this had been coming.

The girl continued, “You guys do this every year but things never _actually_ change.”

Carmella, despite her fiery temperament, was quiet at first to the aggression. Her eyes tightened as did her grip on the mic.

“We are tryin’.” She defended, “Unfortunately, change doesn't happen fast. But if you guys help us--”

“You don't help _us!_ ” A male voice called from the back. There were murmurs of agreement from the crowd.

“The Enforcers try their best, I promise.” Carmella repeated with vehemence, “There's only so many places we can be at once, but we are makin’ this thing a priority. We wanna help you guys, which is why I wanna remind you that if anyone is bein’ bullied for having powers, or for not havin’ powers, that you have your teachers, parents, and you have us.”

There was no response to her speech, the girl sat back down with an expression of distrust and disbelief on her face. Clearly they weren't going to make any headway soon with the teens. Stardust couldn’t blame them though, he couldn't imagine what the neglect felt like after years of not having their so called heroes lift a finger to help their community out. Every notion he had crafted about the WWE painted the group as do-gooders who saved anyone. The reality was brutally bleak in comparison and it felt like the Enforcers was, again, losing some of its magic in his mind.

“If there are no more questions that concludes our presentation.” Carmella tried to hide her disappointment but it was clear in her tone.

The principal clapped encouragingly, not put off by the lack of people following her example, and walked onto the stage to thank them and begin dismissing students. Soon the room was filled with the sounds of chairs being emptied and teens regrouping with their friends to head back to class. Carmella was packing her things with tight motions, eyes fixated on her bag. Stardust was at a loss of what to do or say, stuck in his position and desperately peering over her at Naomi who was visibly calming herself.

“Carmella.” She tried and the smaller woman stood abruptly enough and with the right amount of punch to clearly ward off anyone.

“I'm goin’ back to base. Got alotta work still--I'll see you guys later.”

She didn't wait for a response, the click of her heels clipped and brisk. Enzo watched her leave with a distressed expression, not too eager to oogle her after all of that. The principal looked between them helplessly, landing her attention on the familiar bet: Naomi.

“We do appreciate this, really.” The woman quietly spoke. Naomi gave her a tight and forced smile in return and nodded.

“We’ll get out of your hair.”

“You're just going to have to give them time.” The principal tried again as they began to retreat. Naomi paused, long enough to slow Stardust and Enzo down. She looked like she was inwardly fighting at what to say before she turned to look at the other woman, this time without a smile.

“I know.” She tightly replied.

The principal studied her expression and then slowly nodded back, face smoothing to a more professional mask. Naomi’s hands were brutally clenched by her sides and betrayed her distress about the ordeal. Wisely, or maybe out of sympathy, the principal didn't comment further and walked off, leaving them to an empty gymnasium.

The formerly neat rows were knocked askew carelessly, little reminders of the people who had previously been inhabiting them. There was a phone charm on the ground, forgotten in the hurry to get out. Stardust felt foreign, a misshapen puzzle piece that no one asked for. Least of all these people.

How did Carmella do it?

“Let's go.” Naomi tersely stated and walked over so hurriedly that they were scrambling to keep up. There was an edge to her gait that made Stardust keep a certain distance between them, though it did not deter Amore who fought to catch up.

“Whoa, hey--whoa!” Amore called, and by some stroke of luck managed to grab a hold of one of her arms, “Calm down for a sec before ya’--”

“Before I _what?!_ ” Naomi snapped, whirling on the smaller man and forcing him to take a step back, “I'm in control!”

In a second Enzo’s demeanor darkened considerably and he shoved back into her face, “I jus’ mean you're this close to freezin’ your car! You don't gotta blame me for all a’ this!

The man gestured widely at the school behind them and Naomi flinched back like she’d been slapped. Stardust really hoped no one was watching. He wasn't keen on potentially having to break them up and wished, not for the first time, that Daniel was here to play the middle man. Naomi's body language reached a breaking point and then she let out a strangled yell that she tried to contain, snapping a fist out to punch her car and shaking the vehicle with the force of the blow. Where her fist had landed there was a thick coating of ice that also entrapped her hand. She panted from exertion or anger; Stardust wasn't sure which.

“See, I told ya’.” Enzo grunted, familiar enough by now with her ability to be mostly unbothered, “Why are ya’ so worked up anyways? We did our job so let's go, learned some quality teamwork or whatever.”

Too much of Naomi’s previous outbursts were starting to make sense. She pulled violently at her trapped arm until the ice finally broke and revealed bruised knuckles that were rapidly turning a shade darker.

“What are we doing?” She massaged her injured hand roughly, “Seriously, does anyone know what we're doing?”

“...You mean like in general or--” Enzo started.

“I mean like _at all_ with this job!” Naomi threw her hands into the air, “Stick to the upper class, follow the rules because we're government regulated, don't do anything unless some higher up says so while people are in trouble _everywhere_ and we aren't doing anything!”

Enzo looked dumbstruck by the outburst and Stardust was fairly certain his own expression was similar.

“Did you see those kids?” Naomi jabbed a finger towards the school, “We can do PR but the second I want to come down here and check things out-- because I'm only allowed _rounds_ \-- it’s excuses! We have to parade acting like we're the heroes but, honestly, are they even letting us help?”

There was a part of Stardust that didn't like where this was going and a part that also understood her frustration. It was true. He met too many people who never seem to be let out into the field without heavy regulation and guidelines, himself included. They had people watching them constantly or recon work that was utterly overshadowed when faced with the problems discovered in places no one ventured to. At the same time he couldn't discard the brief altercations he’d had, fights the other two had never experienced.

The Authority was still very real and very dangerous.

He hesitated too long with his own response and Enzo took the opportunity to agitatedly tap his foot and shake his head, “Yeah...yeah! I only been here a few weeks now but I gotta admit, you guys do a lot less than the NXT-- and I wasn't even wit’ them that long neither!”

“Exactly.” Of all the things for the two to finally agree on, Stardust felt that this wasn't a good one.

“We need ta’, I dunno, prove ourselves.” Enzo grew excited at the notion, “Prove the WWE!”

Yes, this whole whatever-it-was was definitely not the brightest plan. The duo was building off of each other enough to encourage Stardust to step in.

“What would we even do?” He presented the argument.

Naomi already had an answer like she was prepared for the question, “We sweep the underground.”

Stardust inhaled sharply at that, “What?! If we go down there looking like this...”

He uneasily cut off, thinking of all the rumors that circulated the vicious sector. The two of them may want to charge in guns blazing, but he still couldn't get the image of CM Punk impaled on a man's arm, blood spurting out of the wound and--he shuddered.

“No, look, we change our appearances and do undercover work. We walk through today and start learning the layout.” Naomi had all the intent of a woman ready to go to war.

“Change to what?” Stardust asked, baffled. Unless she meant for them to strip down and wear virtually nothing there wasn’t a clear alternative option in his mind.

“I have some of my clothes to my car.” She shrugged flippantly (and of course her pack-rat vehicle came with a wardrobe), “Jimmy's too.”

Ew. He didn’t want to know how those clothes ended up being crammed somewhere under a seat. Hopefully it was for all innocent reasons only. Enzo was jittering around in place so violently that he it looked like he was going to explode or do something else equally as violent and disgusting. He pumped a fist enthusiastically into the air, rocking himself off balance but not caring.

“A’right! This is great, once we catch some shady shit they’ll hafta let us in on some stuff and get some people down here!”

Naomi’s gaze was still settled on Stardust and he nervously shifted under the weight of it. Something told him that if he didn’t do this he'd never earn her trust, nor Enzo's (though he didn’t care as much for the latter). She was waiting for his decision, he knew. As treacherous as this could possibly become, he liked Naomi and she was one of the few people he felt he might have a chance of connecting with on some level. 

Being alone was becoming far too unbearable. Was he desperate? He was desperate wasn't he.

“Okay.” He reluctantly bowed to the idea, “But Jimmy better have tolerable fashion sense.”

 

*

 

He didn't, as it turned out.

The style was distinctly similar to Roman’s in that it involved large sweatshirts and made Stardust feel like he should be lounging on a beach rather than following Naomi like some sort of lost child. She was relatively normal (and cool, he grudgingly admitted to himself) in her own townies compared to Enzo; he’d had to roll the cuffs of his borrowed sweatshirt and bear the cold in a saggy pair of gym shorts. They reached past his knee.

It was hilarious.

The underground was bustling at all hours but it was different than the busy work of the rest of the city. Louder in a more aggressive manner. People called at each other, shoved at each other, and generally had an air of distrust for each other. He wasn't sure what they were looking for-- _everything_ looked suspicious enough for him to draw even nearer to Naomi. She glared at him when he huddled too close, backing him off to an arm's length. Well, a child's arm.

Unlike them Enzo was enamored by the sights around him, a kid in the candy store.

“Kinda reminds me a’ home!” He bellowed over all the excess noise, grinning widely.

Their direction was aimless but even Naomi was careful not to completely lose their place and potentially strand them. Her icy disposition warded off any especially aggressive individuals who tried to risk getting their attention for whatever reason. The more unsettling people though were the ones quietly tucked away in the shadows, watching them with unreadable expressions. There was no doubt in Stardust’s mind that they stood out just due to their unfamiliarity with their surroundings.

And, It was nerve-wracking, but he had even wiped his face paint off at Naomi's insistence to ensure no one could recognize them as Enforcers or draw attention. Given how all three of them lacked any sort of fame, it wasn't difficult to accomplish this. Without his safety blanket though he felt naked and self consciously pulled the cap he'd put on lower, as well the adjusted the scarf around his neck. The scarf was a bit out of place on his chosen outfit as it belong to Naomi, but he'd take it over being entirely unprotected. Anything was better than that.

“Any ideas?” Stardust asked Naomi when they paused at a juncture between streets. She frowned in return, not quite picking up what he said over the volume of their environment.

“I said, any ideas of where to go?” He raised his voice, off put by the nearby cheering he could hear building volume.

“I say we follow that!” Enzo declared enthusiastically and didn't wait for their agreement before darting off to try and find where the crowd was. Naomi cursed but hurriedly followed, forcing Stardust to tag along or risk being left behind. A nearby stranger leered at him, making him speed up to rapidly put distance between them.

Since they entered the underground night had fallen, evening pulled in enough to warrant flipping on neon signs. Whether or not there were actually street lights around shops was up in the air; the pavement was alight with all different sorts of colors. Unlike the south sector though, the hues cast by buildings here made things feel less liveable and more criminal. He’d never entered a red-light district before, but Stardust had the distinct notion that he was probably standing in one now. The logic was not reassuring.

Enzo’s jog took them right up to the entrance of a rather unassuming building in comparison to the places around it. There was only one sign in front neatly listing a series of names in blocky letters.

_Lucha Dragons vs. The Ascension_

_The Beast vs. D-Young_

“C’mon!” Amore started up again to move inside but was halted by Naomi’s unrelenting grip on his shoulder.

“I don't think we should actually go into anything yet.” She loudly argued, eyeing the building with as much reluctance as Stardust which was somewhat of a relief.

Enzo shrugged her hand off, “Gimme a break! You said we should check stuff out, so let's quit dilly dallyin’ n’ actually do somethin’!

“What are you expecting to find in there?” Stardust had to practically yell at the smaller man in lieu of the crowd inside suddenly roaring their approval of something. There was music playing from the sound of it as well, the bass thumping hard enough through the concrete walls to potentially give him a headache. Crisp night air and dirty gutter water were more appealing than walking into the unknown structure and getting engulfed by all the commotion.

“I dunno! That’s the fun part, right?!” Enzo crowed back and was able to slip free of Naomi’s grasp to bound inside.

The subsequent responsibility of having to follow him was a blur as far as Stardust was concerned. He recalled Naomi instantly taking off after him, her sneakers slapping on the pavement, and then clumsily stumbling after her. As soon as they’d entered the building his senses had felt overloaded by the sheer volume level that had slammed into them as well as the large crowds of people. His own steps had faltered and he’d needed to lean on the nearest surface available: a wall that was damp for unknown reasons that he’d rather not think too hard about.

By the time he managed to lift his head and anxiously peer around, Naomi was gone from his sights. She must have been completely unaware that he hadn’t been able to tail her due to the chaos around them, he realized. His heart was pounding in his ears, his throat, his chest, a veritable time bomb ticking down the seconds until he freaked out and possibly did something he’d regret later from something as simple as an overcrowded club of sorts. 

Or maybe club wasn’t the right word--music wasn’t playing anymore. There was a man’s voice resounding through battered speakers placed strategically through the masses, relaying what sounded like...a fight?

Stardust uncertainly glanced around himself thrice more before willing his body to move and shuffled through the crowds. Though people were packed tightly like sardines, he still tried to keep from touching others. The last thing he needed was multiple strangers brushing his skin and contracting the knots in his stomach tighter. With this in mind he was grateful for the protection Jimmy’s sweatshirt and pants provided as well as Naomi’s scarf--hardly any part of him could be seen through the clothes.

Navigating was next to impossible and so he gave up on trying to see over people and instead followed what he hoped was the source. If he was lucky Naomi might have pushed to the front as well and he could regroup with her before figuring out how in the universe they were going to locate Enzo--

“Ah--fuck!” 

The breath wooshed out of Stardust’s chest in one go when someone slammed into his abdomen, knocking their head accidentally with his own and upsetting his hat’s position. Amore himself was frowning and muttering curses under his breath, rubbing his forehead gingerly. Stardust could feel his eyebrows climbing rapidly at the surprise of managing to find the smaller man before Naomi, and then the feeling was immediately replaced with anger. He snagged a hand on the sleeve of Enzo’s own sweatshirt, balling the cloth tightly in his grip.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” He snarled, tugging Amore back towards him when he tried to jerk free.

“Lookin’ for you guys! I thought you followed me!” 

“You ran off before we could!”

“S’not my fault, big guy! You shoulda been faster.” Enzo snarked, “Where the heck’s Naomi? She’s gonna love this place, it’s right up her alley wit’ the whole anger issues thing--I think this place is some kinda fight club.”

The reference sailed over Stardust’s head; he merely continued to frown disapprovingly at Amore and hoped it was copying Naomi enough to convey how irritated he currently was with the man before him. Enzo remained unaffected for the most part, undecided between scowling up at him or continuing his excited tangent on what he’d discovered.

“Fine, look, just come see for yourself.” 

He was caught off guard by Amore suddenly wrapping a hand around the wrist anchoring Enzo in place and tugging him through the throngs of people. The other man was quite skilled at navigating through for the most part, though he had a habit of stepping on toes (whether or not that was on purpose was undecided). When they finally popped free, Stardust inhaling deeply and feeling like he’d just been held underwater for minutes, what was before them was some sort of ring. A wrestling ring perhaps?

It was built on top of a few feet of support, high enough so the crowds could see everything happened in ring. The ropes were discolored from years of use but looked steady and still useful. Only now did Stardust realize that there were also a few small televisions to help broadcast the event to those who couldn’t see. He was struck silent by how similar the environment was to the NXT base, and swallowed thickly.

He had to stop thinking about that--this wasn’t the NXT, Punk wasn’t here, and the Authority wasn’t here. The Viper-- one hand rubbed self consciously at his chest, at the spot where wounds had healed.

Safe. He was safe.

Whatever expression that was on his face must have been more spooked than he’d realized because Enzo was blatantly staring at him for the first time with concern. Stardust exhaled a shaky breath and forced his hands down, averting his eyes from the curious and worried gaze that he was being leveled with. He knew how to deal with the panic, he just needed to breath in and breath out, and remind himself that what he was experiencing right now was real. This wasn’t a vision, this was his actual life.

“Hey…” Enzo’s hand touched his arm again, but this time it was more hesitant, especially when Stardust instinctively flinched, “You a’right? You ain’t gonna faint on me, are ya’?”

If he did he’d make sure to cushion the blow with Amore’s body that was for sure. It’d serve the other man right for getting him into this mess in the first place. He turned back to Enzo and opened his mouth to reply but paused when the crowd burst into cheers, what sounded like a bell being rung.

“Your winners and still undefeated tag team champions, the Lucha Dragons!” The commentator’s voice blared over the layer of people screaming.

At least now they weren’t in the middle of that. The ring was cleared rather quickly, the two men (and they were so small--what were they doing fighting in some sort of illegal business?) exiting with their hands held victoriously in the air. Various individuals reached out from the crowd to try patting their sweating backs or heaving chests, trying to at least brush against the champions momentarily.

Enzo craned his neck, standing on the tips of his toes to see over the brim of the ring and catch a glimpse of the fighters heading backstage. When he couldn’t see further he rested back on his heels with a displeased grunt. His eyes continued to dart between the stage, the crowd, and Stardust, unable to rest on anything for more than a second.

“We should find Naomi.” Stardust stated during the lull in commotion.

Amore didn’t look happy about that but didn’t argue further, “Where do ya’ think she went?”

That...was a good question. It was his turn now to crane his neck and look around, hoping to catch a glance of Naomi’s hair. There were far too many people to lock onto any one thing, especially with how badly his brain was buzzing in his head. The situation grew worse with the lights dimming to near blackness, people around them growing in enthusiasm again and thumping around, jostling into each other.

Stardust couldn’t be blamed for frantically reaching a hand out to desperately cling to Enzo’s shoulder like a life-line. He was thankful the loud man didn’t question his action like he normally would, even if it was due to how bizarre things were getting. If Amore took a small step back in his direction too, well, he wasn’t going to bring it up later. An odd beat thumped on and off in the darkness, triggering a knee-jerk reaction of hysterical excitement from the audience.

“Is that...some kinda heartbeat…?” Though he couldn’t really see Enzo all that well he could imagine how disgruntled the man currently looked.

The lights flickered to red, centering on the exit the men from before had used. There appeared to be someone huddled at the end, clothed in black attire. The music dragged into intensity, clawed towards a climax until the first resounding explosion of sound triggered lights to brighten and the person to stand fully. It was a young man with eyes as cold as ice, oddly familiar with how they pierced in intensity. 

While some sort of theme song blared over the speakers the announcer took this moment to introduce the man as he stalked towards the ring.

“Introducing your current undefeated singles champion, Prince Devitt!”

Stardust’s stomach dropped and it clicked in his head where he’d seen the man’s face before, in visions that licked across his mind’s eye when he’d stepped inside the NXT base. The grip on his shirt tightened viciously and he turned towards Enzo with a horrified expression to find the man staring at Devitt with eyes so wide he was afraid they’d pop out of his skull. Amore was rigid with tension, looking as though he was barely breathing from how tightly he was holding himself.

“Y’know,” Enzo cleared his throat but his voice broke even so, “I only seen one picture of some guy Punk liked a lot, never actually met em’.”

Devitt had reached the ring and was gazing into the crowd with an unmatched ferocity, everything about him radiating threat.

“Parrently’ the same guy you--uh-- _we’re_ lookin’ for. The jailbird.” Enzo took his eyes off of the ring to exchange another disbelieving glance with Stardust, “They called him Devitt back at base.”

“This will be an open challenger match up!” The announcer’s voice resounded, “A lucky few volunteers will have the opportunity to show their stuff and potentially be the next singles champion!”

There were men walking around, speaking with members in the crowd. Stardust realized too little too late that when they meant volunteers, they meant actual volunteers from within the audience. Anyone could actually step up to fight Devitt--Balor. They would be fighting with a murderer and not even know it. Back-up, he needed to call the WWE right now and get someone down here pronto to help handle the situation. Did these people even know what the man could really do?

“I’m calling Natalya.” Stardust choked out, fumbling for his phone with shaking hands.

“They ain’t gonna get down here in time.” Enzo was blinking like he was coming out of a dream and he shook his head before frantically glancing at him, “We’ll lose em’.”

Despite this Stardust already had his phone out, “We’ll just have to...follow him?”

“...Wait. I got a better idea--we can stall him.” 

“How exactly?” Stardust then blanched considerably when he realized one of the men taking volunteers was walking up, “Oh--oh no, _Enzo he is a murderer!_ ”

“Shut up!” Amore hissed and elbowed him in the side, thrusting his arm out to catch the man’s attention, “Hey! Over here, man! Lemme at this guy!”

Well, it did the trick.

“This is the worst plan I have ever heard, and I have been forced to listen to some ghastly ideas.” Stardust was stage whispering as rapidly as he could while the man approached.

“Will ya’ shut up? Jeez, you’re worse than Cass.” Enzo snarled and then switched back to a cocky smile immediately, “Hey, yeah, how you doin’, guy?”

The inspector looked thoroughly underwhelmed at Amore’s, well, everything, but paused long enough to hear his spiel or...assess him or something. It was rather unclear how competitors were picked. Stardust shifted uncomfortably next to the smaller man and attempted to look unrelated to him all while wondering how in the world he was going to make a distress call to the Enforcers in the middle of a very rambunctious illegal fight ring without abandoning his partners. 

“You want a real show?” Enzo puffed his chest out proudly, “Well you’re lookin’ at em’.”

“Sure thing, man.” The inspector looked unconvinced in every way possible but stepped to the side and gestured, “We haven’t watched new meat get pulverized in a while. Should be good.”

If Amore was rethinking his decision he didn’t overtly show it, which was impressive considering the other few men who’d been selected and were already waiting were twice his size. Enzo merely shot the inspector a crooked, confident grin, ignoring his threats, and slipped free from the crowd to stand at the end of the line. He shot Stardust some sort of sneaky wink that really wasn’t as discrete as he thought and then turned back to the ring with a cocky smile.

It was good timing considering the first man was being slammed brutally into the floor and then nailed in the head with a well aimed leg drop. Finn, or Devitt, or whoever he was, pinned the man for a three count without even seeming to try and without any resistance. Stardust faintly wondered if the man was really unconscious and if he just allowed an Enforcer trainee to run into certain death.

Enzo’s face had paled considerably and he had lost some of his projected bravado. Finn shoved the definitely knocked out man off the side of the ring with a foot and then turned to look at the remaining group with a feral smile.

Stardust began dialing Natalya's number as fast as he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Enzo "I regret everything" Amore gains a learning experience.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First: I am soooo sorry it took me forever to write this chapter. These last two months have been hectic with the holidays and moving in to a different state.
> 
> Second: You'll notice some new pairings added to the list. :^)
> 
> Third: I hope you enjoy this chapter! We've reached some important plot points so we'll be getting into more expansion on characters soon!
> 
> Fourth: CHECK OUT THIS SWEET FANART MY [ROOMMATE DREW ](http://peerpressureart.tumblr.com/post/133191097533/had-a-rough-day-so-drew-a-quick-wwe-thing-based)

“ _brown nosin yet??_ ”

Randy frowned down at his phone, discretely checking the glossy screen. 

“ _im gonna guess yes_ ”

“ _Wrong._ ” He only needed to type the one word back, disliking texting during a meeting that involved anyone his rank or over. If he’d been the most dangerous in the room it’d be different, he knew.

His phone refrained from buzzing or making a sound, only the screen lighting up to indicate a reply, “ _h talk about anything good or is he dicking around again?_ ”

To this Randy allowed a small huff of amusement, glancing towards the head of the table where Hunter was gesturing towards a chart. The room they were gathered in was small, but luckily Batista's bulk hid his under-the-table conversation. He had long since zoned out with what the meeting was about and from the looks of it most everyone else had as well save for Hunter and Ric, seated next to the head of the table. Nikki was playing with a strand of her hair in boredom, chewing a stick of gum quietly and only glancing at the whiteboard their boss was motioning towards.

She noticed Randy's casual stare and a cheeky smirk flitted across her face, accompanied with a small eye roll. There was no question that Nikki was a favorite and benefited from the leniency, but unlike most of Hunter's favorites Randy found her to be deceptively observant and quick-witted which were traits he was fond of in his allies. It helped that she could break a man over her shoulders too, of course. 

As always Brie wasn’t invited, kept outside of the inner circle despite her hard working disposition. It was something of a sore topic for Nikki and set Randy on edge. Both twins were top tier but only one could be regarded as the better, even if it was due to...more prejudiced reasons.

The screen lit up again, Dean impatiently shooting him another message, “ _helloooooooo what am i chopped liver?_ ”

“ _Meeting’s confidential._ ”

“ _so u havent been paying attention._ ” Ambrose texted with the speed of a thirteen year old, only needing a second to snap back.

“ _I plead the fifth._ ”

“ _someones feeling sassy 2day_ ”

Randy’s lips tugged up wryly, a slight change in expression. As slow as he and Ambrose’s search for Finn had been, the man had enough energy and drive to charge a battery and remained hopeful despite the lack of leads. He’d expected this level of progression and was only halfway committed to the idea of finding Balor anyways. It was, at the very least, something to do that didn’t make him feel like a puppet on a string.

“ _i think seths catching on btw_ ”

Seth? Was he coming around Ambrose again? That was impossible-- Dean would sooner eat his own fist before allowing Rollins to step back into his life. The thought was still troubling enough to draw a puzzled pinch to his eyes.

Nikki cleared her throat just loudly enough to draw his attention and he realized a moment later that Hunter was staring directly at him, hands braced on the table. The situation was comparable to a kid caught passing notes by his teacher, a jolt of surprise erupting down his spine. His phone lit up again but he ignored it, carefully keeping his gaze trained on Hunter’s displeased expression. There was nothing worse than lowering his eyes and conceding defeat or guilt to the man, and he wouldn't allow it.

“I'm sorry, am I boring you, Orton?” Hunter silkily asked.

He could feel Kane’s eyes boring holes into his back from where he was seated at the other end of the table. Nikki refrained from sympathetically watching for too long and shuffled some papers in her hand. The atmosphere of the room tightened from the tension, though Batista and Ric appeared unaffected. In fact, Flair was definitely more gleeful than anything, his mean streak showing for a second and replacing the doting father role he liked to play.

“Of course not.” Randy answered with the sort of fake earnestness that annoyed Hunter, “I can't think of anything more important than number crunching.”

“Orton.” Kane growled in warning.

Randy didn't need to turn around to know that the ginger was clenching his ham hands and his face was flushing a ruddy shade of red at his flippant display of disrespect. He couldn't stop his own vicious sneer, a harsh smirk that had Hunter exhaling in exasperation. Kane was too easy to rile up and it was always a meeting highlight to make the man lose his temper.

“Take five, gentlemen.” Hunter reluctantly announced, “ _And_ ladies.”

Nikki primly smiled back and rose from her chair smoothly, heels clicking on the sleek floor as she walked out. It was a smart move to disperse the brewing trouble before it exploded, otherwise there'd be utterly no chance of even _trying_ to recover after a break. Hunter pointedly jerked his head at Kane who, in turn, stomped out of the room muttering curses.

“Not you three.” Hunter commanded as Randy moved to stand, eyeballing him viciously.

The glass door quietly snicked shut behind Kane, leaving the four of them in an uncomfortably quiet room. The urge to pace restlessly was strong but he sat back down instead with a dramatic shrug of his shoulders. The safest route at this point would be to play smarmy asshole, a role he was intimately familiar with after so many years spent working with the men in this room. As always he was frustrated by the fact that no matter how much time passed he inevitably ended up having to deal with the older trio. Apparently the past was just too hard to outrun fully.

Batista finally moved from his comfortable slouch, grunting with satisfaction as he popped his back. He was as gigantic as ever and his muscles flexed underneath his button up that was snugly pulled on. Office clothes looked out of place on Batista but rules were rules - everyone had to clean up for the upper floors. Randy knew the other man liked to envision himself as a mature entrepreneur these days but he felt that Batista more resembled a gorilla playing human. It was both ridiculous and unsettling.

“Still a youngster, Randy.” Ric smiled cheerfully at him from across the table, fingers laced together. His father of the year act was back in place, irritatingly friendly.

“You know,” Randy cocked his head thoughtfully and continued his own mock earnest attitude, “I'm pretty sure everyone is a youngster compared to you, Ric.”

Ric's eyes twinkled with both mirth and ill intent, letting Randy know his insults hit home. They were all lucky the old codger was way past his prime. Where Hunter was a vicious psychopath and Batista a hulking beast, Ric had always been more discreetly malicious. People like that were dangerous to mess with, but showing weakness in front of the trio was more of a deathwish than exchanging petty jabs.

“Can I go?” Batista grumbled, “I have things to do, Hunter.”

Hunter waved a hand flippantly and sat down, grunting appreciatively at the firm support the chair gave.

“Let's get to business. This won't take long _if_ we can all get along.” 

Ric eyed Hunter momentarily and then fully turn towards their self proclaimed leader with an inviting grin, “Well, sure! I, for one, am excited to be working with you boys again.”

“You sure your back can handle it?” Batista teased, still in better standing with the oldest man compared to Randy or Hunter.

“That's what I got a daughter for! She does all the heavy lifting for me.”

The geezer was a step away from proudly whipping out pictures and showing them off. The last time Randy had seen Charlotte was years ago and, while he remained on edge around her father, she had displayed a slightly less merciless disposition that he could stand for longer than a few minutes. Sometimes he wondered how the old man had produced offspring like her, but then he subsequently questioned if maybe she was even worse than her father and just better at hiding it.

It was Hunter this time that pointedly cleared his throat and drew their attention back to him.

“As you all know since I'm _sure_ you were paying attention,” Randy ignored the obvious glance in his direction, “our numbers are getting better. But I think it's time to consider expansion.”

The man paused as though he expected questions but was met with varying levels of silence. Batista picked at the cuffs of his shirt, fussing with the gleaming watch he somehow slotted around his meaty wrist. There was a pang of satisfaction that came with the clear display of insubordination, especially in knowing that since it came from all three of them Randy couldn't be singled out.

“I'm thinking of Del Rio.” Hunter’s tone expressed how put out he was by the lack of interest.

However, at this Batista lit up and lean forward enough to alert everyone to a degree of enthusiasm. Randy, on the other hand, could feel his expression tighten. Age old arguments about dealing with crime and getting everyone in the company dragged under scrutiny (especially himself) came to mind but he reluctantly resisted mentioning them yet.

“You think he'd actually strike a deal?” Ric asked, most obviously unaffected and more thoughtful, “We didn't have the best relationship with him.”

“I think we were all still new to things back then.” Hunter responded, “And I think Del Rio is a businessman himself and would let old grudges go if negotiations benefited him.”

So Hunter was banking on the idea that Alberto wouldn't shoot on sight if he thought enough money could be made. It still didn't make sense as to why they needed to take the risk of one of the underground's most infamous gang leaders. There was something they were going to get out of this, and Randy knew Hunter well enough to already understand that he wasn't going to tell. Not yet.

There was nothing like healthy paranoia between old work partners to increase work ethic.

“I've already arranged a meeting for later this week if one of you would like to accompany me.”

Batista opened his mouth to volunteer but surprisingly Ric beat him to the punch, “My evenings are open as long as I could bring Charlotte. I think it could be a good opportunity for her to get a taste of what we do.”

What a caring father.

“As long as she understands she won't be a part of the actual negotiations.” Hunter dryly replied, “I could always use a good bodyguard or two.”

“Perfect!” Rick exclaimed, “She's going to impress you, Hunter. I'm telling you, she's a regular firecracker.”

“I'm sure.” Hunter politely answered, “And I hope my intentions are clear on this topic.”

When the man paused this time it was intentional, a contemplative gap to give them time to consider his words. Randy was itching to be done already so he could work off some steam and put distance between him and the other men. He rarely saw them outside of meetings considered important for the company and liked it that way.

“I want Evolution to work together again.”

Randy's stomach dropped. He couldn't be serious - the last time the four of them tried working together it had resulted in disaster and a hospital visit. Without meaning to his body tensed aggressively and his teeth itched with the tell-tale sign of the tips sharpening. Batista's gaze flicked to him, silently taking in the displeased aura radiating off of him.

“You want us to come out of retirement for a business transaction?” Ric asked, amused by the turn of events.

It was one thing for Hunter to confer with them or have one of them help with individual missions. It was a different matter completely to have all four of them reunite and handle things together.

“Retirement?” Hunter arched an eyebrow, “The three of you aren't _nearly_ close to retirement.”

“Okay, okay, I'll give you that.” Ric shrugged, “But some of us aren't as young as we used to be.”

“You trying to say you’re weak now?” Batista rumbled, arms crossed over his chest.

This drew a chortle from Flair, “I was referring to you - I'm worried that those muscles of yours won't be quite as invincible as they used to be.”

Randy remained frozen, stone cold compared to the other men. It was taking all he had not to spit something vicious and stalk out of the room. Anger roiled inside of him at the chummy way the three acted like nothing was wrong, like they hadn't previously ripped into each other in the early days. He breathed deeply, trying to ride out the pulsating fury that throbbed deep in his veins. Against his consent flashes of old memories came to mind and certain scars ached. The hand in his lap gripped his thigh hard enough to bruise; pain was a good base to concentrate on and slowly distract himself from the sudden whirlwind of emotions.

Randy had to calm down. Anger could so easily be taken advantage of after all.

“How about it, Randy?” Hunter's voice was sharp enough to cut, “Unless you're trying to pull a team together _again._ ”

Batista snorted, “Because that always turned out well.”

In and out. In and out.

He slowly raised his gaze from the table top to Hunter’s face. The intensity of his stare didn't catch the other man off guard. He must have expected how much Randy would want to disagree with him.

“What's the special occasion?” He managed to grind out.

“The expansion of an empire.” Hunter succinctly responded.

An empire. Hunter’s Empire.

There was no doubt in his mind they’d benefit impressively from what the man had planned, but Randy wasn't a naive newcomer anymore. He had experienced Hunter’s brutality first hand and knew it only took one wrong word to incur the other's wrath to turn him against someone. That much hadn't changed - Hunter could be a person's best friend one second and their worst nightmare the next.

If he was getting the band back together it was for himself and meant they - especially Randy - we're disposable if things went south. He wasn't going to take the fall for him again.

The silence drew out to a nigh unbearable length as he debated his options. Saying no would put him fully on Hunter’s bad side. Saying yes placed him in a similar level of danger. If Randy could go back in time and punch his younger self in the face, he would in a heartbeat. Ric sighed and broke the silence.

“Come on, Randy. We aren't that bad.”

Liar. All three of the men before him were some of the worst he'd ever had the misfortune of knowing.

But then, so was he when it came down to it. He wasn't clean of crime and never claimed to be. Randy trailed his gaze from Flair to his phone, just in time to see it light up with another text message.

“ _u think rome would appreciate it if I brought popcorn next time he monologues?_ ”

Right. Everyone had their own past mistakes and eventually they always caught up. Even someone like the Lunatic Fringe had a complicated past involving a certain Enforcer member. What mattered was how he chose to play this in his favor, no matter how irritating it was to tolerate the other former Evolution members. He leveled with Hunter once more, the grip on his leg easing and his younger persona slipping into place.

“...What's in it for me?” He graced the men with a cocky smirk, tapping out a short rhythm on the table.

Hunter’s answering shark-like grin made a part of him shudder, Ric’s guffaws in excitement and Batista’s fists slamming to the table just as eagerly barely registering. All personal goals would have to be carefully hidden even more.

If he was coming out of “retirement” he was going to have to play the game again; no more traceable excursions or mishaps that dumped him into even worse circumstances. And while looking for information about Goldust on his crappy laptop wouldn't be looked into, whoever this Stardust guy turned out to be would have to be uncovered more indirectly. The last thing he needed was Hunter catching interest in the mystery he'd uncovered and moving into his turf even more than he already did on a daily basis.

He'd have to settle for using someone else to look into this Rhodes family puzzle, someone who couldn't say no given that he was helping him with finding Finn Balor.

" _diner. 8PM._ " He texted back.

 

**

 

The speed at which opponents were being annihilated in ring was inhuman.

Where the second and third opponents had tried to incapacitate Finn through hardly speaking and throwing themselves bodily like wrecking balls, the fourth went for a more direct trash talking route. He’d been interrupted via Balor’s foot connecting with his chest and toppling him over the top rope. Either the man didn't like smack talk or he hadn't regarded the guy as a worthy enough opponent. It didn't matter, the man’s motionless body had to be dragged away by two security guards to the sideline while Finn watched neutrally from his comfortable position reclined against the ropes.

With the four larger and more intimidating opponents wiped out so quickly, Stardust faintly wondered how he was going to explain to the Enforcers what happened to Enzo. There was no way the man was going to escape this encounter scot-free, but perhaps Finn would take care of him just as quickly. Even if they couldn't catch him now there was a possibility they could reconvene later with better backup - after all, there'd be no reason for him to not continue his career in illegal fighting, right? If they had a location they had a place to come back to and finish business.

This could have been his reaction more because of the fact that Natalya still hadn’t picked up her phone after six attempts, but he tried not to concentrate on that fact.

Naomi was still missing, lost somewhere among the numerous bodies crammed into the room like sardines. There had nary even been a flash of her hair in the crowd, out of sight long enough to put Stardust on edge. The last thing he wanted was a repeat of events gone wrong, of Enzo potentially getting severely harmed or Naomi found to be WWE while she was separated. Alone by himself, stuck to the sidelines and forced to watch Enzo, unable to even search for Naomi or get a hold of backup, was becoming too much too fast. The overwhelmingly loud responses of the audience to the fights didn’t help either and left his ears ringing.

The announcer gestured for Enzo, prompting him to move up the stained metal steps and through the ropes. Amore reluctantly moved, forehead already glistening from nervous sweating. The audience jeered at him, already vying for him to get his head popped off or something equally as gruesome. He looked painfully out of place in his borrowed ill fitting gym clothes and red sneakers.

Balor eyed him appraisingly as a mic was shoved into Enzo's hands. He looks severely unimpressed at least, which boded for an alarmingly quick fight. Amore was at a loss for words and froze up with the microphone in his grasp. He wiped one sweaty palm on his baggy pants, the gesture awkward enough to speak volumes of who already had the upper hand.

“Uh…” Enzo choked out into the mic, wincing when a metallic screech followed through the speakers of the sound adjusting poorly, “Sorry - uh -”

The woman next to Stardust rub her ear wearily, completely unamused by the turn of events as her friend jostled shoulders with a man jokingly. While they appeared fine with how things were playing out, Stardust could note several audience members who appears less inclined to sit through anything more having to do with Amore.

“Just get him off the mic already!” A man shouted from Stardust’s left.

“Get on with it!” Another voice called further away.

Enzo shifted, antsy and uncertain on his feet and floundering for what to do. Despite all his bravado he was surprisingly like a deer in the headlights under so much attention at once. The announcer first swiped for the mic and then practically had to pry it out of his hand. Amore clung on if only for a safety blanket and then shot the man a dour glare when it was forcibly relinquished. The bell rang for a fifth time, signaling the start of the match, though Finn made no attempt to immediately move from his lazy position.

He wasn't taking him seriously at all. The same thought seem to have occurred to Amore because his expression darkened considerably, a layer of anxiety shaved off in light of being mocked.

“A’ight tough guy, let's see what ya’ got!” Enzo hollered loud enough to at least be heard by those in the front rows, his voice breaking in his exuberant exclamation.

Finn regarded him neutrally for a second more before slowly smiling and straightening in his corner. The convict rolled his neck, popping his spine leisurely and taking a few casual steps towards Enzo. Amore only seemed to gain enthusiasm at the basic movement, hopping back and forth in place. Stardust sincerely prayed to whatever deity was listening that the smaller man wouldn't lose control during the match and accidentally electrocute Balor, or worse, an innocent bystander.

It became obvious within the first few seconds that Finn wasn't planning on making the first move, taking his time to circle around Amore who never stop moving. Enzo’s face twisted into a grimace of concentration before he abruptly lunged forward into a fairly clean jab at Balor’s nose. His speed had increased with the little training he’d gone through already with Naomi, more than likely due to the series of knock outs she'd inflicted on him daily.

Despite Enzo’s improvement Finn was quicker, parrying the swing and near automatically sending his own swift cross into Enzo's cheek. The smaller man choked out a curse and stumbled back a step, arms luckily remaining locked in a defensive position. It was the only thing that saved him from Balor smoothly following through with a roundhouse kick towards his head. His boot crashed into Enzo's forearms and knocked him back a few steps.

The smoothway the convict fought was mesmerizing but Stardust tore his eyes away long enough to frantically thumb the call button on his phone for the seventh time. There wasn't even a single ring, just an immediate cut to voicemail. Biting back the urge to growl something explicit, he jammed the end call button with his trembling hand.

What was he going to do?

Finn rebounded himself off of the ropes as Enzo caught his balance, bodily slamming into him and knocking them both to the mat. Automatically he wrapped an arm around a leg while he braced his other on Amore’s heaving chest, trying to pin him for a count. Enzo, having picked up the idea from witnessing the other throw downs, frantically kicked out at two. The people surrounding Stardust groaned in disappointment, eager for their idol to finish with his final opponent.

If Enzo was anything though, it was scrappy. He scrambled to his feet just a shade quicker than the convict, haphazardly throwing a leg out in what was a poor execution of a front kick. His sneaker clipped Balor’s shoulder, somehow getting him off balance to knock him to his back right as the man tried to stand from a crouch.

It was a lucky hit, that Stardust knew for sure. Finn retaliated with barely a pause, charging forward to smash into Amore. The two slammed into a corner, Enzo’s neck whiplashing so harshly he resembled a bobblehead right as Stardust's phone screen lit up. 

Oh please let it be Natalya.

Arm wobbly, he raised the device to his ear. It took a further second to notice he hadn't press the button to answer and he nearly dropped the phone with how hard his arm jerked to do so. 

“Hello?” He croaked, cringing and hiding his face when a person close by glanced in his direction. If whoever it was answered he couldn't understand, the crowd was too loud and his mind too on uncomprehending. “ _Hello?_ ”

A quick glance back at the ring showed Enzo being bodily picked up off his feet and hauled into a different corner, slammed into the post mercilessly spine first. Stardust’s breath caught in his throat as the voice on the phone continued to speak, albeit more frantically. It didn't sound like Natalya, which was confusing.

He needed to snap out of it, things were bad enough without him possibly fainting. Right, focus, he wasn't the most mature individual or even the strongest, but he was possibly the only one able to do something. Stardust shook his head, near violently hissing at a person who chose to spare a glance in his direction. Without thinking he slapped his cheek with his free hand, the shocking sting of pain blossoming across his face enough to help ground him. He did so one more time, the sharp pain dissolving into a heated burn from the agitated area.

“--Dust? Stardust! Are you there?!”

Naomi - it was Naomi. He exhaled loudly, catching his breath and refocusing on the ring before him.

Somehow Enzo was still on his feet, the longest lasting man. The Enforcer darted around the enclosed space with enough tenacity to drive him just a step ahead of Balor. Hits aimed for him only just managed to be dodged, far too close for comfort. Finn’s eyes had narrowed - apparently he was caught off guard by Amore’s seemingly endless amount of ferocity too.

“Stardust?! Seriously!” 

“I'm here.” He croaked, voice raspy enough to try clearing it, “I'm listening - where, uh, where did you disappear to?”

“I'm outside! Where the _hell_ are you guys?!” She angrily snapped. Oh, that made sense. In the background he could faintly hear city noises and possibly the pitter patter of rain. Naomi huffed loudly into her phone, the sound crackling.

“We're...having some difficulties inside. We -”

“You're _still inside?_ What - you know what, I don't care. Get out of there _now._ I should have never let you two come with me.” If words could kill, Naomi's poisonous tone would be melting his skin right off of his bones.

“We can't!” Stardust snapped and then immediately cringed.

He kept his eyes trained on the stage, uncertain if he should be impressed or not by Amore's ability to wiggle out of every lock and continue moving despite the several hits he'd suffered already. Enzo’s nose was bleeding - when had that happened? The grip on his phone on tightened anxiously.

“What do you mean you can't?” Naomi sounded like she already had some sort of idea as to what was going on.

“Enzo's - he’s - Naomi, _Finn Balor_ is here.” Stardust desperately yelled into the phone, louder as the crowd’s volume increased.

Somehow Amore had managed to nail the convict directly in the jaw with a desperate attempt at a kick. Finn’s head snapped to the side, sending him reeling. Enzo’s eyes bugged out of his skull in shock and then he was yelling just as enthusiastically as the people watching.

“How you doin’?!” He roared, pointing aggressively at Finn who stared at him balefully while he gingerly cupped his chin.

“Who's there?!” Naomi had to shout back to be heard.

“ _Finn!_ Finn Balor!” Stardust cried, not caring if people near him could hear at this point. Things were getting out of hand, too wild for him to possibly be able to keep up with.

Naomi's end went silent before she exploded right back, “How - stay there, I'm on my way!”

“No! Naomi, it's imperative that you contact the Enforcers first!” Stardust protested loudly, “I can't get a hold of Natalya!”

There was some sort of frustrated sound from her end. In all honesty Stardust could get it. If he was out there he would want to come rushing in too, but as it was Naomi had more possible contacts to try than he and Enzo. It was lucky that the woman was able to so quickly grasp the severity of the situation. If it had been Enzo he would have probably done the most unhelpful line of action possible (such as the one he was doing now).

“Okay.” Naomi grit out and then repeated louder, “Okay! Just hold on a sec!”

Relief washed over his senses, near palpable in comparison to the ball of anxiety he’d been only minutes ago. He turned his attention back to the ring, flipping his phone shut and shoving it back into his pocket. No matter who Naomi contacted they’d be more than welcome; all he needed to do now was keep an eye on the match and ensure Enzo survived this relatively intact.

Irrationally he thought he saw Finn staring directly at him, eyes narrowed as though he’d heard every word of the conversation and knew what was going on. But that would be impossible given how far away he was and how loud the people around them were. It was just his paranoia getting the best of him. Unfortunately he didn't plan on bystanders.

“Did you say Enforcers?” The man next to him jerked away and loudly proclaimed.

The reaction from anyone close enough to hear was instantaneous, people clearing a ring around him and eyeing him suspiciously like he was contagious. Stardust was extremely glad that he had chosen to add the scarf and hat to his civilian get-up, self consciously tagging the cloth higher to hide even the bridge of his nose. Only his eyes remained uncovered as he looked between the people gazing at him. The woman from before was whispering to her friends.

“...No, of course not.” He answered and knew instantly his protests fell flat. He shuffled a step back, unsure what to make of the situation. There was no way to even look towards the stage, not with the semi-circle of strangers who were growing more and more agitated by the second. 

The man reached out a hand, his expression squared and serious, “Show me your face then.”

“No touching!” Stardust practically yowled back and smacked the approaching limb away harshly.

Their disturbance was interrupting more people the louder they became and the longer the problem dragged out. There were security guards moving towards him and he could hear someone yelling about the Enforcers, alerting more individuals nearby.

“Sir.” A hand closed on his upper arm and he wrenched away, “We need you to come to the back with us.”

Well that didn't sound promising. The movement to pull away turned him back towards the ring and behind the head of the first guard still trying to grapple with him he saw Finn staring directly at the commotion. There was a decisive look to his eyes, like he made his mind up about something. Enzo was coming in from behind, in a full-blown sprint at the other man but then slowing when he spotted the antsy crowd.

"Sir, I need to ask you to follow me to the back room." The guard had some sort of Russian accent and honestly resembled enough of a mob cliche that he decided then and there not to take his chances any longer with this place.

Stardust shoved hard enough at the guard to send him staggering back into a second coming up, toppling them both head over heels. The move threw him off balance as well and he tripped over his own feet, careening backwards into bystanders. Some fell away while others he could feel latching onto his baggy jacket, either automatically trying to stop his descent or going for his scarf and hat. People had begun to yell about something entirely different than the match and it was like witnessing a domino effect.

“Star!” Enzo’s voice carried over the panic.

In a bought of fight or flight, Stardust grunted and lashed out at the individuals trying to invade his personal space. There were too many people and too many hands on him. He managed to gather his feet underneath himself, yanking free of anyone trying to keep him in place and then promptly caught the toe of his shoe on something, forcibly taking his legs out and smashing him face first into the dirty cement floor.

“The Enforcers are here!” Someone was yelling.

“Get out of my way!”

“What the fuck is going on?!”

“ _Move!_ ”

People's voices blended together, a backdrop of building mass hysteria. A part of Stardust registered that if he didn't get up soon, there was a chance he might get trampled in the chaos. Wheezing, the scarf still luckily caught up around his neck even though the hat had been knocked off, he willed himself to push up to his elbows. The sight he was greeted with was not what he expected. 

Simultaneously people dropped to the floor as one; a wave of collapsing bodies centralizing from those closest to the ring outward. There were no other sounds, people cutting off mid-sentence to abruptly faint to the floor. It was like watching a multitude of puppets have their strings sliced, limbs splayed every which way.

Pain rocketed through his head at the same time, as intense as a migraine. A small whine of distress left him and he was forced to close his eyes and cease his glancing around. There was a foreign pressure that pressed into his mind from all sides as though it was trying to _make_ him fall unconscious. He knew whatever this may be wasn’t normal, but there was no way to truly think about it. He dropped his head back down to his arms, willing the pain to go away.

All noise in the room stopped, leaving only faint echoes and harsh breathing. The silence rang louder than the previous catastrophic volume, unsettling in its absence. Stardust could hear someone grunting over his ears ringing and heart pounding wildly.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he got his bearings. He was surrounded by unconscious people and it felt like one had even toppled over onto his left leg. While it wouldn't be impossible to swiftly shove someone off, it would definitely draw attention to himself and he had no idea if that would be a good or bad thing.

A tremor ran through his arm but he willed it to stay still. No matter how much his head continued to hurt he still needed to find out what was going on. All the stars in the universe weren't going to help him if he just kept lying uselessly on the floor. As discreetly as he could, he shifted his head to follow the source of the noise. Pain flared even more harshly at the movement but he was able to spot Enzo grunting angrily and struggling against Finn.

“Get offa me!” Amore blurted, though the command was ruined by Balor’s arm hooking tighter around his neck.

One of the smaller man’s arms was twisted behind his back as well, wrenched high enough to warrant Enzo having to struggle on his tip toes and arch his back sharply. The man’s expression was scrunched from the burn, eyes rolling around frantically in their sockets. Enzo at this point seemed only able to gurgle.

Finn, just tall enough to peer around the room carefully, ignored his desperate gasps for air. Whatever he was looking for he didn’t find and so he turned his attention back to the shorter man in his grasp. There was an indecisiveness about the convict, as though he truly didn’t want to let up on Enzo and continue to let him struggle. Amore gurgled again and tried to kick back despite his precarious position, succeeding only in putting more pressure on his throat.

“Well you’re a small one, aren’t ya’?” Balor finally spoke and flashed a thin smile.

Enzo could only glare, his free hand locked onto the arm keeping in a chokehold, fingers digging into the flesh. Finn clicked his tongue in disappointment, running his eyes around the room again and then without warning shoved Amore away. He stuck his foot to trip the man, planting Enzo in the exact position Stardust found himself in. Automatically Amore was coughing, holding his throat and trying to prop himself up. The sound was watery and painful to listen to, accompanied with one quick shove of his hand over his eyes. Finn, stepping carefully around him like a cat, made an intrigued sound.

“Are you _crying?_ ” He mocked.

“Shuddup--couldn’t breathe. Shit’s natural.” Enzo snarled, voice rasping.

Finn nodded absently and then crouched before Amore’s sprawled form. He didn’t move to grab him again and simply regarded him curiously like the Enforcer was an anomaly. Stardust tensed, terrified that he was about to witness Amore get his loud mouth head blown up (or something like that) in front of him. Hopefully Naomi had managed to contact someone and help was on the way.

“You know,” Balor’s tone was conversational but still low enough to be classified as a threat, “you should be knocked out too.”

“Wha’...?” Enzo’s brow furrowed in confusion and outrage, “You got some kinda _problem_ wit’ me? Did you do this to alla these people?!”

The man’s voice cracked, somewhat ruining the effect of his serious questions. He was managing to catch his breath and braced a palm on the ring’s mat to push off, but was halted by Finn shoving him back down. He kept his hand buried in Enzo’s hair, holding his head forcibly against the floor.

“My problem,” Finn calmly stated, “is that you don’t seem to be fainting like the others. So tell me, how are you different?”

“Wha’s it fuckin’ matter?!” Enzo yelped and then cried out again when the other man yanked his head up and uncomfortably wrenched it.

“It matters if you’re an Enforcer like that fella over there seems to be. Because that means you’re one of the gifted types.” Finn’s eyes darted to the door, continuing to obsessively check the exits and ensure no one was coming through, “So I will nicely ask once more: how are you different? What do you do?”

“This s’ nice?” Amore grumbled and was met with another harsh yank to his hair, “ _Augh_ \--okay! Jeez, I dunno! Electricity stuff!”

The convict released Enzo and stepped back, cocking his head curiously down at him while the man cursed and rubbed at his scalp. Then, with a strangled grunt, Enzo rolled himself to the side and upright, fists snapping into place. The action didn’t bother Finn who merely side stepped and put an arm’s length between them.

“Electricity stuff.” He thoughtfully repeated, watching Enzo’s attempts to amp himself back up, “Interesting. That man, what does he do? I heard him calling for back up.”

Stardust quickly clamped his eyes shut and feigned unconsciousness, too fast to notice Amore cautiously peeking over at him. Trying to puzzle out a strategy wasn’t working with the way things were playing, his mind was frazzled and the situation was too tense. All he could produce was potentially catching Finn off guard enough to grab Enzo and run; they were obviously in over their heads.

Enzo’s glance didn’t go unnoticed by Balor who refrained from commenting on the telling act, “I’ve never seen you on the news though so you must be a new one.”

Cautiously, Stardust cracked his eyes open once more. The lights hanging overhead nearly made it impossible to distinguish the men’s features, bright as they were. Oddly, they seemed to be increasing in intensity which was worsening the throbbing in his head. Balor spared a look towards the ceiling and then looked back at Amore who confusedly followed his gaze while simultaneously maintaining distance between them. The sweat on both men was creating a sheen over their visible skin and Stardust wrinkled his nose.

Gross.

“You don’t know that. I could jus’ be like...a special OPs guy or somethin’!” Enzo argued loudly a moment too late. 

“I doubt that.” Finn dryly responded, “Do you generate electricity?”

“Ya' - what?” Enzo asked, dumbfounded.

He couldn't be blamed. The conversation was not going in a direction Stardust would have predicted. Assuming Finn was somehow causing the mass reaction, he should by all means be using the opportunity to run. Especially given that even if the Enforcers didn’t arrive, there were people who’d gotten out that would alert others. They were on a time crunch and Balor remained largely unworried.

Finn took a step towards Enzo, outstretching his hand for the man's shoulder. Jerking away, Amore skipped a step back. His fist twist in an aborted reflex to take a swing at the other and remained locked before him defensively.

“I don't think you just make it.” Balor mused out loud, his eyes hooded by shadows but still strangely fever bright, “Which means you must take from things around you to run it through yourself.”

Obviously Enzo was lost of the implications and he didn't try to discern the meaning. Dropped mics suddenly let loose a high pitched squeal that made the Enforcer wince and drop his guard for half a second. Finn seized the chance and darted forward to wrap his hand tightly around Enzo’s wrist. The reaction was immediate: Amore jerked upright in place as though he'd been shocked, jaw dropping in surprise and eyes wide but unseeing.

His free hand wavered in place, body trembling violently. But instead of fainting like all the others, Enzo continued to lock up. His teeth began to clench together so tightly it looked dangerous and his eyes slowly scrunched shut - the man looked like he was about to explode. Perhaps at the last possible second his body reversed from its agonized arch to hunch in on itself. Simultaneously every single light nearby flared overtime and flickered rapidly. They cut off for a moment and then slowly came back, even brighter than before.

Enzo was heaving, gulping down air and going weak kneed. He moaned something unintelligible, fingers scrabbling to grab hold of the closest grimy rope. Tremors ran up his spine and his muscles spasmed periodically, body clenching tightly like it was prepared to burst into action and then sagging bonelessly the next second. Somehow the image was frightening - Amore’s body couldn’t decide if it was full of energy or devoid of it and it was rendering him unable to move.

“You’re something of a conduit.” Balor piped up, sounding much more intrigued by this realization.

He was staring at his hands, color rapidly fading from an angry red to his pale skin tone, and then he was looking at Amore with a strange smile growing on his face. The man looked downright feral but pleased with the implication and closed their distance once more. Enzo wasn’t able to do more than weakly protest, struggling to even keep his eyes trained on the convict.

Enough was enough.

Though pain was coursing through him, Stardust summoned whatever willpower he had to push himself to his feet. It wasn’t a graceful maneuver and he stumbled due to his effort not to trip on the unconscious people on the floor. Immediately Finn’s gaze snapped over to him while his head pounded, a heavy repetitive thud nailing into the back of his skull.

“You’re still awake too.” The convict didn’t sound surprised by this, merely guarded, “I must be losing my touch.”

The first thing that needed to happen was to get Balor away from Enzo. While Stardust had no clue what was going on he knew that whatever was wrong with the smaller man was Finn’s fault. Maybe with the odds slowly stacking against him he’d leave without a fight. Even with his own heightened reflexes Stardust was doubtful his ability would go too far against a trained criminal, especially one with the power to apparently knock people out with his mind, but Finn didn't need to know that.

“Enforcers are on their way.” He stated, avoiding acknowledging the previous statement. He wanted to believe in CM Punk’s opinion on Balor, that the man had been framed and was innocent, but the man was thus far making it difficult.

“Are they…?” Finn asked, looking between him and Enzo who was still trembling, “That would make you one as well.”

“That’s correct.” He nodded, appearing more confident than he felt. It was too late to deny the statement and pretend.

“Do you do things with electricity too?” Balor questioned.

The man narrowed his eyes in concentration and the air room seemed to gain weight as it pressed down on him, the pounding in his head worsening into a dagger driving into his brain. He grimaced and his hand wavered in the air, stuck between being defensively held in front of his chest and wanting to cup his aching head. Despite the pain, he still didn't drop to the floor. Honestly he was beginning to wish he was one of the bystanders so that he could be released from discomfort so intense he was feeling nauseous. He wasn't quite sure how he was still on his feet and didn't want to think too hard into it.

There was a grunt from Finn who must have been experiencing some sort of rebound, likely due to the amount of people he was exerting himself over. A fine sheen of sweat had broken out over Stardust’s skin as the air grew impossibly pressurized around him. Was his nose bleeding? It felt like it was. A vision was definitely pressing into the back of his eyes, feeling for all the world like it was unfolding in slow motion.

Around him people were twitching like they were beginning to wake up and Finn quickly swapped his control back to them, the atmosphere lightening. People slumped once more into the dregs of sleep while Stardust gasped at his own sudden relief, head free from agony for a moment and then overtaken by a vision the next.

He saw Finn crashing into him, grappling for dominance, and then himself losing bit by bit. The other man was too strong; if he was a halfie as well he must have a mish-mash of abilities like Stardust. That was how it had been for both he and Goldust and, given that they were all he had to go off of, he had to assume he was correct.

“What are you?” Balor snapped, bracing himself against the ropes closest to Stardust, “Are you like me?”

Enzo’s head lifted, staring in confusion in his direction. Despite the man's injuries and inability to hold himself up properly, his eyes locked onto Finn and he seemed too aware. It was too late to stop the blatant reference to his biology and panic fluttered through Stardust veins. No one could know.

“Like you?” Stardust desperately lied, “I’m afraid I’ve never been to prison, boy. Unless you mean something different…?”

Enzo looked between he and Balor again, somehow putting two and two together. It was obvious in the way his face slackened in understanding and his grip on the top rope nearly slipped. Stardust shook his head slowly and broke out a half smile, shrugging at Finn like they were sharing a joke between them. Balor appeared angry now, an added aggression to his stance that put heat behind his words.

“Don’t _lie_ \- you are, aren't you? You're a halfbreed.” Despite the convict including himself in the question, he spat the word like a curse.

Stardust had heard people say the term like that before many times. It always made him feel messed up - something abnormal that needed to be fixed but couldn't. Somehow he managed to stop himself from flinching back, the stubbornness he’d pushed so hard for beginning to fail him in wake of his anxieties. Finn prepared to leap over the rope, Stardust’s vision coming to fruition. It was going to happen and he wasn't sure if he was going to be able to stop it in time, not without some sort of advantage. Still he braced himself for the impact he knew was coming.

“You work for _them,_ don't you?” Balor hissed, “Why won't you people leave me _alone?!_ ”

The man’s grip on the ropes viciously tightened. He must be envisioning throttling Stardust already if his expression was anything to go by.

“Take your own advice!” Enzo hollered and then abruptly crashed into the convict’s side, knocking them both solidly to the mat.

The millisecond of surprise he'd gained bought him a few punches to the face. Stupid, Stardust noted in the back of his mind. Hitting someone's face over and over would serve to do nothing but break a person's knuckles. Balor shoved at the smaller man, hands slipping and unable to plant firmly as Amore swung like a man possessed. There was a spray of red on the floor, a splash across his fists. He must have busted Finn’s nose.

Stardust watched and inched towards the ring while both men were distracted. He needed to complete the mission - except there was no mission technically. They were doing this so off the books he was positive they may be fired for it.

“Enzo.” He spoke but was ignored.

Amore lashed out again, teeth clenched tightly together. There was a bruise already forming around his neck from Finn’s rough treatment.

“Enzo.” Stardust tried again and reached for the duo to at least tap the Enforcer on the knee.

“ _Don' touch me!_ ” Enzo snapped, jerking away from his outstretched hand so violently that he lost his balance and fell to the side.

His words stung worse than any fist and Stardust retracted his limb hurriedly, drawing it back down to his side. They stared at each other, eyes locked while Finn breathed raggedly in the ring. Enzo looked repulsed by him; he believed what Balor had said which meant he was going to tell Cass. He could potentially ruin Stardust's life and chase him out of a city that he was just beginning to settle down in - it would be a repeat of his teenage years all over again. Fear welled up within Stardust; he was going to have to try and play it off. He had to do _something_ to convince the man otherwise.

Finn grunted and the air grew agonizingly heavy once more, but this close to Finn made the heavy pounding in Stardust’s head that much worse. Stardust cried out, collapsing to his knees, head cradled into his hands. He caught a glimpse of Amore’s expression turning into something more uncertain and concerned before he went down - the man still unaffected. How was that possible?

“Let's try this _one more time._ ” He heard Balor say, though the sound was distant next to the growing buzzing in the ears.

“Hey-” Amore started and then cut off for reasons Stardust couldn't see.

The whine from the mics grew to a frenzied pitch, loud enough to make him gasp for relief. It continued for one second, two, ten? It was blurring together in lieu of being unable to think straight. Another vision hammered at the back of his mind, demanding to be let in but he couldn't stop the pressure building.

Until it suddenly did.

The lights _exploded_ around the large room and all weight popped and released. Stardust didn't have time to breathe at the alleviation, forced to immediately turn to his stomach and cover his head. This time when the sound cut off it was more like he’d pulled wool over his ears. Colors blossomed behind his closed eyelids from the blinding flash of light he’d seen before he’d jammed his eyes shut.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed while he tried to regain hearing and orient himself, though he was aware of the fact that the burning in his skull was slowing ebbing away. Eventually the ground was shaking with minute vibrations, like a group of people were sprinting through the building. Painfully slow he turned his head, reluctant to leave the blessed cocoon created by his arms. 

Police were everywhere, bursting in through doors and swarming like angry bees. They were stopping people who would woken up and checking those that had not. When had they gotten here? 

The world was washed in shades of red as though he was experiencing a vision but he knew for a fact he wasn't. He braced his hands on the ground and pushed himself to his feet, sound trickling back like a record ripping. No one seemed to notice him, they didn't even glance in his direction. He looked to the left and spotted Enzo unconscious in the ring, sprawled on his back gracelessly. Police were trying to check him for injury but every touch sent visible sparks playing along their fingers and shocking them, eliciting surprised cries. Finn was mysteriously absent which meant somewhere in this he must have gotten away. 

“ _Move!_ ” That was familiar, very familiar.

Stardust followed the voice with his gaze in time to see Naomi shoving through two officers, Cesaro of all people following closely behind in his own police uniform. The duo they passed looked offended but they didn't pause. Cesaro pointed to something on the floor before Stardust, their focus locked. Whatever it was must have been important given that they both went to their knees, not even acknowledging him to see if he was okay.

“Oh, I’m alright.” He grouched, “Thank you _ever so much_ for inquiring.”

He received no response, ignored despite standing directly in front of them. How incredibly rude could two people get? Exhausted from the day’s events and wanting to know what was going on Stardust opened his mouth to speak once more (though this time more angrily) but was cut off by Naomi.

“Stardust.” She frantically spoke, “Hey--Stardust! C'mon man, wake up!”

What? 

Don’t look down, his mind whispered at him. If he looked down he wouldn’t like what he saw. Nevertheless he lowered his gaze, dread growing. His body lay on the floor beneath him, slack with slumber and face smeared with blood from his nose and ears. The second panic hit him, spine stiffening with horror, it felt like he was pushed roughly from behind and then he was opening his eyes with a startled gasp to stare wide eyed up at Naomi and Cesaro.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: the Enforcers vs. the Press.
> 
> Also drop me a line on my tumblr if you wanna talk story! A reminder that it's [starcussed.tumblr.com!](http://starcussed.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is appreciated!


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